


Minerva McGonagall and the Long and Storied Love Affair With Academia

by zephyr42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Here are all my feelings about Minerva McGongagall, Pre-Canon, all of them at once in a series of emotional tidbits, i bend some dates for the sake of storytelling, okay mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:10:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyr42/pseuds/zephyr42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of tidbits about McGonagall. Expansion & revision imminent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dippet likes to talk a lot, and the Sorting Hat is vaguely creepy

# 

1946

  
  


Minerva never felt so out of place in her entire life. Her owl arrived shortly after her eleventh birthday, and but for a whirlwind day trip to a strangely quiet alley and wand shop in the otherwise noisy and sooty London, she’d had no contact with the wizarding world. The young wandmaker had peered at her as if she were a specimen, but the golden sparks that flew from the wand he’d given her spread a warmth through her chest and the smile stuck on her face for hours. Her other friends were back at school together in the village which was not so far off from these wild highlands, but she now felt as if they belonged to another world.

The line of horseless carriages wheeled into the underground courtyard and she cautiously stepped down, letting herself be swept up in the murmuring crowd of other anxious students her own age. An elderly man stepped through the door and unnecessarily spread his hands for silence. The countless wrinkles around his eyes did not smile with the rest of his face, and he touched a smooth worn supple wand of an ashy wood to his throat before speaking. His voice was strong and his welcome came from his throat as if he had said it countless times before.

“Welcome, first years, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am your headmaster, Professor Armando Dippet. Congratulations on your admittance to this fine and proud institution. These ancient halls have produced the finest minds of the last several centuries, and I have no doubt you will strive to be counted among them.

“Tonight you will take part in one of the most important ceremonies you will ever experience. The sorting hat will determine your place and housemates for the next seven years of your life, and establish for you a community which will last far beyond your time here and into your professional life. When you enter the Great Hall please remain in a single line and stand against the far wall. When you are summoned to be sorted, sit atop the stool and refrain from any unnecessary questions. The Sorting Hat will take care of the rest. After you have been sorted you may sit with at your house table with your new friends. Thank you, and again--welcome.” Dippet’s wand flicked down from his throat and disappeared from view as he disappeared back through the door.

Several older students with shining badges came through and began motioning the students to form a queue as they entered the school. One of them, a curly-haired girl walked beside her and lead her through the high vaulted hallway.

“I’m Pomona Sprout, one of the prefects in Hufflepuff." She smiled kindly down at Minerva. "What’s your name?”

“I’m Minerva McGonagall. I think my mother was in Gryffindor.” Minerva pushed up her thick glasses and met the other girl's green eyes with a small smile.

Pomona grinned. “Gryffindor’s a good house, too. They’re all interesting if you ask me. Do you come from a wizarding family?” They entered the Great Hall.

“No, Mam’s a witch—none of us knew until my owl arrived last year.” Minerva was motioned to line up against the wall with the other first years.

“Oh, my! Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of questions. You can find me after classes at the greenhouses if you’d ever like to chat. I’m to go sit with my house, now. Don’t be anxious, I’m sure the Sorting Hat will know just where to put you.” With a smile and a light shoulder squeeze, Pomona was gone before Minerva could say that she wasn’t anxious, nor sure what to be anxious about.

A middle-aged wizard with bright lime robes was propped against a podium on the dais near the front of the hall, and he read off the first student’s name with a clear voice that carried across the room of chattering, giggling students.

“BOTT, BERTRAM!”

The boy walked towards the dais looking back every few meters before shakily perching on the stool. The wizard rather unceremoniously dropped a wrinkled pointy hat over the student’s eyes, and Minerva saw the boy’s fingers tighten involuntarily on his jacket hem. To her shock, the hat ripped open and a voice rang out from the tear.  


“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The boy slid off the stool and stepped uncertainly towards the table of applauding students in yellow. The wizard in the lime green robes called another name, the student sat down on the stool, the hat called out another word, and the ceremony continued in this fashion.

“LONGBOTTOM, FRANCIS!” Minerva smiled as a sandy-haired round boy made his way up the dais and awkwardly sat as he was pronounced to be a Gryffindor. He beamed as he made his way down the steps, enthusiastically returning the offered high fives from his new housemates.

* * *

“Mam, will I have friends at school?”

Isobel McGonagall looked down into her daughter’s deep green eyes. She hadn’t spoken to her housemates in nigh on a decade, but lately she’d begun to wish to have them nearby. They’d been like sisters, the five of them. Nights spent in Gryffindor tower singing and writing and practicing charms. If her daughter was placed in Ravenclaw as she suspected, Isobel had little wisdom to offer.

“My darling, I’m sure you’ll find others just like yourself.” She leaned down to grasp her daughter’s hands. “Just remember to be yourself.” She winced at her own saccharine attempt at reassurance. “I mean. . . don’t hold yourself back, Minnie.” Her daughter’s eyes gazed back at her solemnly. “There will be people who are scared of girls as smart as you, and they may bully you or be cruel. There are other people who will want to be your friend because they think to take advantage of your intelligence and willingness to share. Don’t be afraid to be as smart and as gentle as you are with your friends here.”

“I won’t, Mam. I won’t be afraid—I’ll be brave.” The emerald eyes looked down in thought and Minerva chewed thoughtfully on a nail as she pondered her mother’s advice.

Isobel began to wonder if her daughter was as blue as she suspected.

* * *

“MCGONAGALL, MINERVA!”

The wizard in lime green robes searched the line for the next student and Minerva stepped forward. As she strode to the stage she caught the eye of the wizard and felt curiosity in his returned gaze. She ascended the steps and steadily took her place on the stool. Her last sight before the hat closed over her eyes was the bright smile of Pomona amidst the sea of black robes, and she found a calm reassurance in returning it.

“Oh, my… we’ve had students like you before, but never quite like you.” The voice felt as if it was directly behind her, but Minerva felt no breath or air moving.

“Can I be with my friend?”

“Oh, no. My dear, your mind it’s… lovely. So sharp... You see things as they can be, not as they are. That’s quite a rare skill, you know. You have the will to make it so, too. Even rarer.” The voice crooned seductively.

“Yes, I know. Mam’s told me that before. But I’d rather be with my friend. She’s been quite nice to me, and school can be very scary, you know.”

“Scary? Yes, I suppose it is. Dear child, you have a surprising amount of gumption for one as small as you.”

Minerva scoffed indignantly. “Why does my size matter? I can do just as much as anyone else here!” The voice somehow managed to produce an amused huff of air despite its lack of lungs.

“I see that. Very well, then. Better be… GRYFFINDOR!” The voice rang out across the hall and the Minerva winced as the light flooded her eyes. She felt a gentle hand at the small of her back and a very human breath on her shoulder as the man behind her leaned over and whispered, “Congratulations, Minerva. You’d best go join your new housemates, now. I’ll see you in class soon.” She slid off the stool and walked towards the table of students cheering the loudest and waving wildly. Only after finding an empty seat did she remember to search for her friend. Pomona locked eyes with her across the Great Hall and returned a friendly wave.

“SELWYN, AUGUSTA!” A tall wiry girl clambered up the stool and a knowing smile spread across her narrow face as she was placed in “RAVENCLAW!”

One of the last students to be sorted was a girl whose pink sweater peaked out underneath the black Hogwarts robes. The hat touched her braids and shrieked “SLYTHERIN” as she strode directly to the table, a self-assured smirk sliding across her face.

* * *

Once in the house common room, Minerva began to feel at ease. The dark reds and burnished golds of the furniture felt like her mother’s room at home, and the lion motif called to mind a brooch that was often lost in the folds of Isobel’s shawls and scarves. She climbed the steep stairway to the girl’s dormitory with five other girls to find trunks placed at the foot of each bed. Her bed was nearest the window through fluttered a sweet night breeze. Minerva stretched out on the bare sheets and looked around at her new housemates. A girl with dark unruly hair and glasses sat on the bed next to Minerva’s, her legs swinging across the divide between the beds.

“I’m Euphemia Kapur. You’re Minerva? I saw you with the sorting hat. Such a long time to sort you, other people seemed surprised. Were you surprised?" The girl spoke with a light East Anglian accent and her hair moved wildly as she spoke. "Do you ever get called Minnie? Can I call you Minnie? I shan’t if you don’t like, but I think it’s such a friendly sounding name.” She smiled openly, revealing crooked teeth. Minerva found herself smiling back.

“Me Mam calls me Minnie sometimes. You can too, I guess. My friends at home call me anything they want to as long as it’s nice.” She found herself sorting through the questions and picking out the easiest ones to answer.

“I shall call you Minnie, then. If you change your mind just tell me and I’ll stop. I know I talk a lot but I’m a really good listener, too. You can call me Mia.” The dark eyes behind the glasses were playful and energetic.

“Mia.” She tried out the name on her tongue. “It’s very nice to meet you. Aren’t you tired? I’m beat.” Minerva could feel her small body begin to droop, but Mia giggled and bounced on her mattress.

“No! I’m so excited I couldn’t possibly sleep. Do you want to go explore?” Mia's eyebrows wiggled in a conspiratorial manner. Minerva let the question hang in the air for several seconds before responding in a meaning-laden tone.

“I think I’m too tired to explore right now. Perhaps you’d like to take a walk together after classes tomorrow instead?”

Mia’s face fell. “I suppose that’s prudent. I just… my parents told me so much about this school and I want to see it all as soon as I can. They said there’s secret passageways and forbidden books in the library and thousands of pictures that will tell you all about the place if you ask them nicely. And ghosts. I’ve never met a ghost.” She laughed with good-natured surprise as she saw Minerva’s eyes grow three times larger. “Oh, they’re all quite harmless. The worst the Bloody Baron can do is give you the shivers.”

"The who?"

Mia laughed with glee. "Oh, this _will_ be fun!"


	2. Prof. Beery is a bit odd, and Dumbledore is a terrifying teacher

Minerva was sorely underprepared for her first day of school. Classes were confusing and she felt as if her head were in a cloud through Defense against Dark Arts and Potions. As she headed into Charms she could feel her anxiety level rise steadily. The words were confusing and alien, her quill seemed to trail ink, and her scroll wouldn’t stay unrolled properly. She longed for her notebooks and pencils that her mother had insisted she leave behind. “These things are your new tools, and you should learn how to use them properly. Your pencils will be here when you return, Minnie.”

Her day was rescued when she saw Mia’s dark cloud of curls drift into the classroom and the smile that spread across her face as she sat down across from Minerva.

“Hallo! How are you finding your classes?” Mia spread out her scroll and set up her workspace as if it was second nature.

“Not very well, I’m afraid. I’ve never taken these subjects before and they all seem a little odd to me. I was just getting the hang of multiplication, too.”

Mia’s mouth dropped. “Isn’t your family magical? I’ve heard your last name before from my parents, I figured you were from a pureblood family.”

“No…” Minerva said slowly. “I think my mother’s magical, but we live non-magically. Me dad was very puzzled by the owl. I’d never seen anything like it, myself.” Pieces of her life were slowly coming into focus, but she’d never seen magic used apart from pence from ears and once a rabbit from a hat.

“You mean your mother just gave up her magic to marry a Muggle?” Her tone was hushed and astounded. “I didn’t think that could be done! My parents couldn’t live without magic. How else would they get everything done?”

“Muggle?” The word was foreign.

“It means ‘non-magical’ or someone who can’t use magic.” Mia put her elbows on the table, waggling her eyebrows and wiggling her fingers comically. Minerva’s brows knit together as she processed the boundaries and terms that seemed so natural to her friend.

A woman in deep burgundy robes entered the room and strode to the podium, pulling her wand from her sleeve as Minerva turned to her friend and whispered, “I think I’ll be asking you many questions like that.”

“You’re very welcome to at any time,” Mia said cheerfully.

* * *

After classes the two girls stowed away their books in their trunks and began to wander the grounds. They began with the Quidditch field and made their way back to the castle, stopping by every rock formation and fairy circle they found along the way. Minnie began to run towards a stocky willow tree before Mia caught the back of her robe and pulled her away from the tree’s branches as it swayed against the wind as if reaching for them.

As the girls approached the greenhouses they saw another figure approaching. A thick knitted cap pushed down Pomona’s golden curls and her eyes brightened as she recognized Minerva.

“Hallo!” Mia shouted from a distance. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join us on our walk? We’re exploring!”

Pomona smiled and said, “Would you like me to show you the greenhouses? Professor Beery’s in there now, but he won’t mind.”

“I don’t know much about plants, but I’m sure you can tell us loads. This is Mia, she’s in my house.” Mia stuck out her hand and gave a bright smile. Pomona shook her hand and ushered the girls inside the greenhouse. The damp warmth inside felt like summer. Mia laughed and took off her fogged glasses to clean them with her robes, and Minerva removed her stocking cap.

A middle-aged man whose hands and knees were caked with dirt emerged from the foliage. He wore a cap and pushed up his glasses with the back of one hand, which only managed to transfer some of the dirt to his face and smudge it across his forehead. The left corner of his mouth turned up and he nodded his head in welcome.

“First years? Welcome to the greenhouse!” His voice cried dramatically and he spread his arms wide, flinging dirt across the room.

Minerva and Mia stood stock still, their mouths open.

“I’m Bert Beery. Professor of Herbology here at Hogwarts.” His arms lowered. “I also organize the drama club, rather a dear side project for me. Perhaps you two would like to audition, eh?”

Mia was the first to reach out her hand. “I’m Mia, and here’s Minerva. Pomona invited us out to see the greenhouses.” She shook the professor’s hand up and down and absently wiped the dirt on her robe. “When are auditions for drama club? I’d like to join. Do you ever do Rabbitty Babbitty? Dad said he was in a great production here while he was in school. I’d be a real good muggle king. I know all about the muggle monarchy. They’re werewolves, you know.”

Professor Beery’s bushy eyebrows rose far above his glasses. “Are they, now?" He stammered for a moment. "Well now, I think this year we’re doing The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, quite a classic. These old stories are very important.” He loosened his collar and a glint of gold appeared around his neck. “Must keep the spirit alive, you know.”

“Oh yes, quite.” Mia nodded sagely. “When are auditions?”

“Ah. Yes. Saturday morning, in classroom thirty-six. Just outside the Hufflepuff common room. Breakfast and goodies provided, of course. We never go hungry in drama club.” He winked at the girls in a conspiratorial manner.

Minerva felt sick at the idea of auditioning in front of other students, but Mia seemed thrilled. “What do we need to prepare? Or will you have material there?”

“Bring a song or a poem that you know. We’ll worry about special effects later!”

“Professor,” Pomona inserted, “I rather think that they might like to see the Puffapods they’ll be working with tomorrow.”

“Oh? Yes. Yes, of course. Tomorrow’s Gryffindor, yes. Please. And girls, do feel free to come back any time. Pommy here’s started us growing our own produce to help with providing fresh crops for the kitchen. We usually need some taste-testers for berries and such. Nurse’s only a quick stroll away should something be off, although I’m quite good with medical charms, myself, actually.” He puffed out his chest and smiled proudly.

Pomona hastily lead the girls back to the castle.

* * *

Tuesday began with Transfiguration. The classroom had high windows that opened to the east, flooding the classroom with light and fresh air. As the professor entered the classroom (this time wearing robes of bright azure), Minerva understood why he had leaned so heavily on the podium the first evening. He walked slowly and lightly favoring his left leg. It looked more out of habit than as if it were fresh pain, as if he’d been accustomed to walking with an ache for several years. Rather than stand before the board to lecture as other teachers had, he sat on the stool in front of the podium at the front of the room and pointed his wand where he sat. The stool stretched up several feet higher and the podium soon followed. His eyes twinkled at the students and nodded in welcome.

“Hello, class. Welcome once again to Hogwarts and most especially to my classroom. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, professor of Transfiguration here at Hogwarts.” He began to make eye contact with each student as his gaze moved across the room. “Transfiguration is an art unlike others you will learn here at school. To master it requires something so powerful even the strongest wizards of our time struggle to obtain. You can develop it over time, yes, but as we grow older it becomes more and more difficult to learn.” The class was hushed in a rapt silence. “Imagination.” A small ripple of giggles went through the room and Minerva let out the breath she’d been holding.

“It requires an iron will, yes, which is something you’ll improve while you’re here at Hogwarts, but the most vital element is your own ability to see things beyond how they exist at this moment in time. Today we’ll start with some simple wand techniques and the timeless exercise ‘match to needle!’”

The entire classroom whipped their wands out eagerly, and Minerva held hers gingerly at arm’s length. Charms class yesterday had been mostly theory, and Potions they’d used wands not at all. Except for a basic disarming spell in Defense Against The Dark Arts during which she’d managed to surprise herself with a few sparks, she hadn’t spent much time with her wand. It was a light wood and very durable despite its slender length and flexibility. A student in front of her enthusiastically tapped his wand against the desk and dramatically cried, “Abargleargle!”

The desk burst into flame. The classroom filled with cries of alarm and laughter as the flames licked higher. Dumbledore raised himself up on the stool, his wand pointed directly at the desk and student. The twinkle was gone from his eyes and his face was deadly serious. _“Aguamenti.”_ Water doused the fire and student alike, and the boy’s face was stricken with fear. Laughter and cries dispersed into silence as Dumbledore’s voice cracked like a whip across the room.

 _“Did I instruct you to wave your wand about like an utter fool?”_ His voice was ruthless. “Good witches and wizards have died from careless, thoughtless spells. Do you not understand the privilege you gain by sitting in this classroom and being able to learn these words behind these desks? No?” His shoulders were rigid as he pulled himself up across the podium to look at the students. His eyes looked past the culprit and straight at Minerva. “These wands we hold in our hands have the power to heal and to break, to change and to enchant. When you wave it, do so with your intentions clear and your mind set.” She was released from his gaze as he shifted to look at the boy in front of her. “Don’t place others in danger because you don’t know what you’re doing. The magic in your veins is not to be used lightly, child.”

The boy did not cry or try to utter an excuse but instead held Dumbledore’s gaze and nodded once. The professor leaned back onto the stool, and Minerva thought she saw the man tremble slightly as he settled on the seat.

“Good. Making mistakes is part of learning, but foolishness has no place in these classes. Let us continue, hmm? Surely we can get somewhere useful today.” The air in the room lifted again, and when the students held their wands up again it was with a measure of seriousness they had lacked before.

“Everyone take a match. Perhaps we should try something less flammable, eh? Not to fear, not to fear, I can see I’ve terrified you all far more than I ought.” He levitated a box of matches to the front row and each student took one before passing it on. “Let’s all practice the words first.” Students repeated the strange word back to him in unison, and he would occasionally point with a long finger to a single figure and ask them to speak it alone until he was satisfied that everyone had a grasp on the language.

“Now, I’ll demonstrate the wand movement and draw it on the board so you can see how it looks. When I instruct you, perform the movement directed at your matchstick and speak the words clearly, like we practiced.”

Minerva found the words exhilarating. They leapt from her mouth joyously, better than Christmas carols. When prompted, she levelled her wand at the matchstick and spoke the words as clearly as she was able. Next to her, Mia’s match lengthened before turning back into a wooden match and the girl swore under her breath. Minerva’s match shimmered into silver and grew long and sharp, solidifying into a cruel-looking needle which resembled the ones her mother used for embroidery.

“Minnie, you’ve done it! You’re a natural, just like I knew you would be.” Mia grinned nudged her with her shoulder in encouragement. “Come now, show me what you did so I can try again. Professor, Minnie’s done it!”

“Very well done, Miss McGonagall! It usually takes at least a day or two before this is mastered completely. Very nicely done. Why don’t you help Mr. Weasley up here with his?” The boy in front of her turned around and smiled at her sheepishly, his ears pink. Minerva stepped out from behind her desk and introduced herself to Weasley.

“I’m Septimus. Please don’t call me that, not sure why I even said it. I’m Sep. Dreadful sorry about the fire earlier. My older brother told me that spell would make the desk dance. I guess he was joking.”

Minerva struggled to keep her face straight. “Not much of a joke if you ask me. He could have told you one that would have turned it yellow and it wouldn’t have been so bad, I think.” The boy’s face frowned thoughtfully, doubtless considering many pieces of “wisdom” he’d been passed down.

By the time the class was over, Sep managed to produce a piece of gray dull wood which seemed to please Dumbledore. When the other students filed out, the professor asked him to stay behind for a chat. Minerva continued on to History of Magic, leaving the two to talk in private.


	3. Dolores Umbridge is insufferable, and why didn't Slughorn trust her if she was in his own house?

Saturday morning arrived, and Minerva and Mia found themselves in classroom thirty-six. Minerva had been up late doing homework and had yet to have a cup of tea. She felt surly and put her hair up too tight in order to give herself some sense of inner fierceness. She always found the tension on her scalp gave her a sense of urgency. The two girls were the first to arrive but for a small figure dressed in Slytherin robes who Minerva recognized from the first evening. The girl sported a bright magenta bow in her braids and a saccharine smile slid across her face as she saw the other girls enter.

“I suppose you’re here to audition, too? How very brave of you both to try. I’m Dolores.” She extended her hand, but retracted it as soon as she saw Minerva reaching out to shake it. Minerva awkwardly put her hands in her robes and opened her mouth to respond as Beery entered the room.

“Three? Three! What a wonderful starting number. I daresay we’ll have some others join us soon. Let’s all have some breakfast while we get and get to know one another.” He flapped his sleeves lightly as he sat down at the table. The door opened again and Minerva stared. A parade of breakfast food entered, directed by a short pale figure with ears that extended far beyond the expected range. The food was levitated onto the table and two large carafes of tea appeared at either end followed by sugar and cream. The figure conducted the food onto the table with great aplomb and skill as if conducting an orchestra.

“Deppy! My dear, how wonderful to see you. I really can’t thank you enough for accommodating me and my little club.” He produced a small basket with a card nestled in the wrapping. “For your ingenious kitchen staff. Do send them my most sincere thanks and effusive compliments.”

The house elf turned bright pink and pulled on her ears. “Professor Bert is very welcome! My staff is always so pleased to hear the voices of students declaiming!” The ears sprang back and Deppy gently took the basket. “We also do greatly enjoy the berries. They hardly make it past the front door before they are devoured.”

“You’re giving food away?” Dolores sneered To house elves? Don’t they make our food?”

Deppy drooped, and Beery turned a poisonous gaze to the girl at the end of the table. “They live here in this school and provide for you with their own hands. You would do well to speak to Deppy and the house elves with respect while you are here.” He turned back to Deppy. “Thank you. Ever so much. Do feel free to pass on anything you need through Pommy.”

The house elf nodded and made her way to the door. As she left, five older students entered chattering happily. Pomona was the last to enter and she greeted Deppy with warmth and held the door for the house elf. Deppy smiled with tearful eyes and waved before she disappeared down the corridor.

Dolores rolled her eyes and scoffed under her breath, “I’d ‘do well’ to treat those vermin with respect? What rubbish! I can’t believe we actually employ them here. I thought this was supposed to be the best school in England.” She poured herself some tea and took a sip too soon, scalding her tongue and giving a small, high-pitched cough.

Minerva struggled to hide a smile behind a pastry. Justice could be swift. Mia glared at the Slytherin and stabbed a sausage, her fork making a painful scratch as it slid across the plate. As she took her seat, Pomona waved at Minerva and Mia and settled in with her classmates. After some time Beery began to call students up one by one to the stage to audition. Mia sang a ballad involving giant spiders and a brave witch who wrapped them up in their own webs. Dolores recited a verse of a schoolyard rhyme about a wee mousie. Other students sang love songs or told stories. Bott performed a silent comedy sketch, complete with special effects from his wand and what appeared to be fireworks up his sleeve. One of the fireworks went wrong and filled the room with the smell of soured milk, but Beery just laughed until tears sprang from his eyes.

When Beery called Minerva’s name, she stood and remembered the piece she’d copied down in primary school, line by line by line. She focused her gaze on Mia for courage and spoke the words with as much genuine feeling as she could muster—which was none too difficult after the events of the morning.

“Sonnet Thirty, by William Shakespeare.”

She took a deep breath and began,

“Such is the course that nature's kind hath wrought

That snakes have time to cast away their stings;  
Gainst chained prisoners what need defence be sought?  
The fierce lion will hurt no yelden things.  
Why should such spite be nursed in thy thought,  
Since all these powers are pressed under thy wings,  
And thou seest and reason thee hath taught  
What mischief malice many ways it brings.  
Consider eke that spite availeth naught;  
Therefore this song thy fault to thee it sings;  
Displease thee not, for saying thus me thought,  
Nor hate thou him from whom no hate forth springs;  
   For furies that in hell be execrable,  
   For that they hate are made most miserable.”

Minerva found herself slightly flushed and out of breath but pleased that she had remembered the words and rhythms. Mia applauded and whooped loudly, and Beery smiled over his glasses and made a note on his parchment.

“A very popular muggle playwright, and quite rightly so. A little prejudiced in his writing, but a product of his time, I suppose.” He called the next name, and Minerva sat down near her Mia and poured another cup of tea. Dolores squeaked a cough, or it might have been a throat-clearing.

“I wouldn’t normally say anything, but I think you ought to know... Shakespeare was British, which means you really should use a British accent. I’m sure it won’t affect your chance, though.” She smiled condescendingly at Minerva, who bristled and forced a tight smile.

“Thanks so much for your advice, Dolores. Perhaps next time you’d like some help? I noticed you didn’t use Burns’ dialect, but it can be a wee bit difficult to grasp without proper practice.”

“I’ll have the list up next week in your common rooms.” Beery’s voice cut through the discussion. “Thank you all for coming!” He watched the students leave and nodded at each one in turn. His eyes narrowed slightly at Dolores as she threw him her best smile on the way out.

Minerva and Mia rounded a corner and began to make their way back to the Gryffindor common room. After the auditions, even Minerva was excited at the prospect of a school play. The rest of the day was lost in homework and preparation for the following week. Mia showed her how to write cleanly with a quill (turned out to be all in the wrist) and the following day they went to find some stones near the lake to weigh down her scroll during writing.

The grounds were bright and cheerful and a cool wind circled the still lake. The two girls skipped rocks across the surface and conversed lightly as new friends do. The sun set over the lake and they slowly meandered back in doors. When Minerva set her head down on the pillow she slept peacefully and dreamed of thistles and fields.

* * *

“I want to go explore.” Mia said, pained.

“Haven’t we done enough exploring?” They were curled up near the fire in the Gryffindor common room after most of the other students had gone to bed. Minerva was fairly certain that they’d gone through the entire castle several times over in the last two months. After drama club practice on Saturdays they had all day to do homework and try opening every closed door they could locate. The girls had learned to speak with the paintings and ask for directions when they got lost. Some figures would follow them and chatterly mindlessly, happy to have an audience.

The Fat Lady of Gryffindor Tower refused to give them her name but allowed them to refer her as “Lady”. Being treated with courtesy was relatively new to Lady, and she grew to enjoy seeing the two girls leave early in the morning and return late at night. When she suggested they make a visit to the trophy room and rub a certain Gryffindor Quidditch cup, the girls were thrilled to find that the figure etched in the bronze would give them a play-by-play of the match, which caused the other trophies to echo the cheers of triumph—except for the neighboring Slytherin cup, which turned an oxidized green and soured.

“I know you’re fond of adventure, Mia, but perhaps for one evening we could go to bed early? It’s almost Friday, and then we’ll have all weekend.” Minerva would like an evening (or two) in which she could go to sleep on time instead of sneaking out of bed to tiptoe through the castle. She always felt peevish afterwards and much preferred to wander during the free hours after class.

“Yes but it’s almost Christmas, and then we’ll have to worry about the pantomime and then it will be break, and then when we return we’ll have to start studying for exams!” Mia said the last with a shudder. “We haven’t visited the dungeons yet, so let’s go. Please, Minnie? I’ll do it without you if you won’t.”

Minerva knew this was a lie, but it swayed her just the same. “I… Very well, let’s go. Just for a quick jaunt. Then we come right back.” She unfolded herself from the cozy chair in the common room and donned her slippers. Mia practically jumped up from the sofa. “I can practice the _silence charm_!” She tapped her wand on her slippers eagerly and whispered the charm.

Minerva shook her head. “That charm only works on voices. Try _‘quietus’_ for your slippers.”

“How do you learn about this? I don’t remember this in class.”

“I was curious, so I checked out a book from the library. The book is for a third year, but the librarian didn’t say anything. It has way more theory than the first year book we’ve been assigned.” Minerva pointed her wand at her slippers and cast the charm. She scuffed them a bit on the carpet to demonstrate the effect of the charm. While it did not completely silence the noise the soles made against the stone, it made a satisfactory difference.

Mia had little trouble casting the charm, and the two girls left the tower with a smile at Lady. The portrait nodded benevolently and made a friendly ‘shh’ing gesture. They made their way down the staircases passed the dozing portraits, deeper and deeper into the castle. The dungeons were easy enough to reach, but they took a circuitous route behind a still life portrait which lead them to a corridor off the kitchens. From there it was two flights down and they reached the dungeons.

“So,” Minerva whispered “Now what?”

“I dunno, let’s open some doors?”

Minerva sighed at her friend but was unable to hide her smile. “Let’s start with the Potions classroom, why don’t we? Slughorn always goes to bed early anyway.” The door was unlocked and it opened easily when they turned the handle. There was already a figure in the room.

A pink pajama’d Dolores was carefully pouring a green liquid labeled ‘Armadillo Bile’ into another bottle and sealing it back tightly before placing it back on the shelf. She then turned around and began rummaging around in a drawer and pulling out ground scarab beetles, which she deposited in a small paper bag. Minerva motioned to Mia to leave and the two girls turned around and exited quietly.

They waited until they reached the next classroom and closed the door before they exchanged puzzled exclamations.

“What was she—”

“I don’t know, I don’t understand—”

Another set of footprints came down the hallway from the Slytherin common room and burst into the Potions classroom. The two girls could clearly hear the voice of Horace Slughorn, Potionsmaster and Head of Slytherin house.

“Dolores! What are you doing in here at this hour? And why in the seven hells is my cabinet open? I secure this classroom myself” His voice was livid.

“Professor!” Dolores couldn’t mask the panic in her voice. “I was just hoping to get some practice in, and…” She stammered “I forgot my ground scarab beetles and I didn’t think you’d mind if I used some from the class stores. The cabinet wasn’t locked.”

The silence that followed seemed eternal.

“There are no potions which require ground scarab beetles on the first year curriculum. Fifteen points from Slytherin.” There was a small gasp from Dolores, and Slughorn let out a long breath. “I do not hesitate to take points from my own house to discipline students. This is a proud and prestigious house, and many of us have gone on to do great things in the Ministry. As such I expect your behavior—especially in front of me—to be honest. We may be cunning and ambitious, but we do not commit thievery or tell outright lies. What have you to say for yourself?” Another long silence followed.

“Professor, I was just practicing—” Dolores objected. Slughorn would have none of it.

“Another five points from Slytherin. I’m sorry to say that I’ll be speaking to the Headmaster about this. Stealing from a professor is serious business, and lying about it even more so. Go to bed, Dolores. No, leave your work there. I’ll take care of it.” The sound of Dolores’s footsteps was fast and sharp as she left the classroom and returned to the Slytherin dungeons. A moment later, Slughorn locked the classroom and his tired steps faded away.

The two girls unfroze from their hiding spot beneath a table and they let out the breaths they’d been holding for what felt like ages. They shakily stretched up and silently made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. Lady sleepily waved them back inside and they sat on the floor in front of the cooling coals of the fire.

“I don’t feel like going back to sleep just now.” Minerva pulled her knees up to her chin.

“Me neither.” Mia leaned back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

“What do you think she was making?” Despite the adrenaline, Minerva’s curiosity was insatiable.

“Ground scarab beetles and armadillo bile? Beats me. But you know what?” Mia was deadly serious.

“What?”

“I don’t know how she got past it, but I’m fairly certain Slughorn has an alarm on that door that we tripped when we opened it.”

* * *

Even after the holidays were over and school resumed, Mia’s thirst for exploration and adventure was lessened, but she still felt the need to sneak out to the broomshed to teach Minerva how to fly. Malvolio Shacklebolt, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, would occasionally let them fly the old Stardust 15s at one end of the field while the team was practicing. They initially worried about the flying instructor, but after one afternoon when Mr. Boardman came around to watch practice he just waved at the girls and said he hoped to see them try out for the team next year. This risk-free activity was freedom for Mia and a novelty for Minerva, who enjoyed the feeling of the wind untangling her hair from its braid. Her friend liked to complain that the brooms hardly even puttered across the field and barely rose higher than 50 feet, but to Minerva it was perfect.

Walks around the castle resumed as the lake began to thaw, and Minerva liked to sit at the edge of the enchanted forest and watch the gamekeeper’s hut be expanded. There was a new gamekeeper-in-training, and he was helping to build it himself. He was a large young man called Hagrid, and he was very gentle with the animals. Pomona would bring him vegetables from the gardens and spend time chatting with him, and after she invited Minerva along the two became regular weekend visitors.

On one memorable occasion Minerva saw Hagrid race into the Forbidden Forest after Professor Kettleburn, who was carried out over his shoulder. The man was smoking something fierce, and his jacket was singed beyond recognition. Attempting to breed Ashwinders with Blast-Ended Skrewts for next year’s pageant, while a courageous attempt at interdisciplinary collaboration, violated numerous amendments to the Ban on Experimental Breeding. Kettleburn was placed on probation and spent some time in the hospital recovery wing, after which he returned with the same vigor and enthusiasm which always marked his position.

The preparation for exams began in March. Slughorn’s classes grew from mildly difficult to grueling, and Minerva found herself studying late into the night. Transfiguration had taken a turn for the theoretical--apparently wand-waving and incantations were fine to start with, but the subject swiftly became about equations and intellectual calculations. Minerva still excelled at the practice of transfiguration but found herself struggling with some of the more advanced formulas. She found that the less understanding she had of the concepts, the less control she had over the final result. The only class she found thoughtless was History of Magic, which required little brainwork but a lot of memorization and recitation.

The first year ended, and the summer that followed was long.


	4. A very short chapter that needs to be expanded about the Animagus process

# 

1951

Minerva returned Hogwarts for her fifth year with mixed emotions. So anxious, in fact, that she found herself knocking on the door of Dumbledore’s office the morning before the first day. She’d arrived in Hogsmeade by floo that morning and made her way to Hogwarts after lunch at Madam Puddifoot's. The walk to Hogwarts was brisk and she loved walking along the perimeter of the lake, seeing the towers of Hogwarts slowly appear through the trees. For an hour she forgot the anxieties of beginning a new year. Dumbledore’s door swung open and he opened his arms to embrace her.

“Minerva, what a pleasure it is to see you.” His violet robes set off the new shade of silver in his growing beard and his eyes sparkled just as she remembered.

“Professor, I’ve missed it here so much. I do love seeing my family, but it is almost impossible to keep my wand out of sight for the entire summer.” He ushered her inside and motioned for her to sit in the plush armchair as he poured her some tea. “And now that Rabbie is here, well, it all rather feels as if we’re lying to my father about everything. The secrets are unbearable!”

“My dear, I cannot fathom. Would you like to talk a little about it?” He poured himself a cup and summoned a chair across from hers.

“Actually, I’d like to discuss my curriculum this semester. I’ve already completed most of the coursework for the O.W.L. Transfiguration test, but I still want to make sure that I’ve actually mastered it.” Her limited ability to practice over the summer had her stomach in knots.

“Ahh. Yes, I see. I suspect you will be more than fine, but I understand your worry. Perhaps you can disappear your teacup. Ah, better make it something a little less valuable.” He walked to his desk and pulled out a cannister which she knew contained candy. “Here, use this.” He placed it gently on the table between them and settled back in his chair.

She pulled her wand from the pocket Mia had sewn in her robe sleeves for her birthday last year with a fond smile. Her wand was familiar to her now, and the bright handle now felt slightly worn and fit to her hand. She lowered the tip to the cannister and whispered, “Evanesco.” Relief flooded her as it faded from sight. A bit slower than she would have liked, but there was no outline or faded image as she’d seen in some of Sep’s disappearing attempts.

“See? I knew you had it.”

Minerva smiled proudly. “I guess I did. It’s still not quite a blink and more of a fade, but… oh well.”

“‘Oh well’ indeed! You’re nearly a full year ahead, young lady. Have some more tea.” The cups in front of them filled and Minerva saw a fresh swirl of milk in hers. “I rather thought we could discuss a… well, an independent study, if you will. It will build on what you’ve learned and hone your skills, but provide you with a new challenge. And, if all goes well, a rather treasured ability.” He peered at her over his half-moon glasses, and she met his gaze directly through her new lenses.

“Alright, I’m intrigued. What is it?”

Dumbledore pulled a book from the middle of a stack on the floor. “I want to teach you to become an Animagus.”

Minerva didn’t even bother to hide her excitement. “An Animagus? I didn’t think to try that for another three years!”

He shook his head firmly. “School is the best place to learn! This will give us ample time to work on it. If you’re willing to try, of course. It will be difficult and I daresay may push you to your limit.”

“Yes. Yes, I want to do it.”

* * *

# 

1952

In her sixth year, Mia found that she quite liked having a cat for her best friend. Minerva found herself suppressing the urge to bat a hand at her friend’s quill during classes.


	5. Dumbledore gives passably good advice and Minerva gets a job interview

# 

1953

“Head Girl? I never doubted it for a moment. Ought to look very good one your resume when you head into the professional world next year. Have you given any thought to a profession?”

“I’m go to home with Mia for the holidays and meet with a man at the Ministry. He’s a friend of Mr. Kapur’s and he’s heard them talk about me.” Minerva look a long drink from her teacup. “Apparently he’s quite high up in Magical Law Enforcement.” The thought was exciting, but something didn’t quite sit right. That wasn’t how she’d pictured her future. Dumbledore hesitated before responding.

“Law enforcement? Well, I can certainly see you doing well there. Plenty of offices would be fortunate to have you.”

She looked down at her feet. “Thank you.”

“Is that what you want?” His hand reached out and covered the arm of her chair. When she finally looked up, his eyes were sincere.

“I… I don’t know. I want a career, but there’s a large part of me that wants to do what you do. Teach, be an educator. There are no positions here, though, and I’m not sure I’m meant to tutor young children, and I’d like to stay close to home. Am I asking too much to do something I love?”

“Well, frankly, yes.”

Minerva’s eyes shot up, expecting a joke. Dumbledore’s eyes were serious. “Your first job out of school doesn’t have to be what you do with the rest of your life. It can help you find your direction, though. Make some connections, meet new people, see what’s out there.” She nodded slowly. “Give yourself permission to keep learning. Change your mind if you have to, and know my study will always be open to you if you need a chat.”

Minerva managed a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

* * *

The holidays arrived quickly. On one gray morning, Minerva stepped into the fire and announced an address to find herself the sitting room of a neat London row house. Mia’s cry of delight could be heard floors away.

“Mom! She’s here! Did you hear the fireplace, she’s here!” Steps like a small elephant came pounding down the stairs, and Minerva found herself wrapped in a tight embrace and nearly knocked back into the flickering flames. Mia had grown into a tall, sinewy athlete but had friendly grin Minerva saw six years ago in the Hogwarts girls’ dormitory was unchanged.

Mrs. Kapur entered the room and wrapped her arms around the two hugging girls. She was a similar build and height as Mia, and her smile was gentler but no less friendly. “I swear, this is the first time I’ve seen my daughter since she got home three days ago,” she laughed into the girls’ heads. “Now come in and have some tea with Raj and me. Mr. Urquart will be here in a few hours, so you’ll have time to get settled.” Minerva levitated her bags up the stairs to her usual guest room and fixed her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head as she descended back the stairs.

The table that overlooked the garden was laden with food which took the better part of an hour for the four of them to consume. Mr. Kapur worked with the Ministry of Magic performing invisibility charms and checking validity of some of the larger spells in London and the surrounding countryside. He was skilled with magic and took pleasure in hiding mischievous items around whenever Minerva visited. On her first visit, her pillow snored softly all night. On subsequent visits she found that her mirror sang nonsense songs in the morning and the lamp would gently ask if she was ready to turn out the light before she went to bed. The Kapur household was warm and welcoming, without the awkward corners Minerva felt visiting Pomona’s apartment in Cornwall or even increasingly at home.

The man who was let into the drawing room after two o’clock was not what Minerva expected. Rather than a middle-aged stuffy bureaucrat, Elphinstone Urquart was a tall slender man in his late twenties. His nose was off-center and scars were visible around his neck as he removed a scarf and hat, and he had a fading black eye. What seemed oddest with this ensemble of features was the gentle smile that appeared on his face as he shook hands with Minerva.

“Hallo! Quite nice to meet you, Minnie. Raj has told me much about you.” He had a warm Glaswegian accent and a rich bronze tone to his voice. “I hear you’re interested in working in magical law enforcement?” He accepted a cup of tea with thanks and settled comfortably in the sofa on the other side of the fireplace from Minerva.

“Mr. Urquart,” she began.

“Please, just Urquart.” A look of horror crossed his face. “I do apologize for interrupting.” His cheeks colored and he took a hurried sip of tea. Minerva took a breath and continued.

“Urquart. I’m to be done at Hogwarts this summer and am hoping to find something that would challenge me. Several career options have been presented by professors, but nothing’s really felt like it would help me start on a good path.” She was suddenly grateful for the many conversations she and Dumbledore had over the last few months. The words came easier now and she found her tone more confident than she felt. “I’m serious about my career and don’t want a temporary or secretary job. I’m looking for something I can build on. If magical law enforcement will do that for me, then I’m willing to look in that direction.”

He nodded slowly in understanding. “I see. What have you been focusing on in school? I ask because it’s a broad field and our employees are a group with diverse skillsets.”

“Transfiguration has been my focus, particularly with transformation. At the end of this year I’m set to register as an animagus, and I’d like to continue developing my transformation skills.” Minerva had given up weeks of sleep and years of her life to reach her goal, and she’d found it made her feel almost invincible. There was something about sneaking the ancient hallways on soft pads that gave her a new kind of comfort in her own body that hadn’t been there before. Even on the Quidditch field, flying felt magical. Being a cat felt natural.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “An animagus? Well, now. That is quite advanced for someone still in school. Have you considered something in the Improper Use of Magic Office? They may have use for someone with your skills.” He saw the look of disappointment that flit past her face and motioned for her to continue.

Minerva nodded. “I’ve also done well at Defense Against the Dark Arts. For the last several years I’ve taken part in the dueling club as a referee. Headmaster Dippet said I couldn’t compete after my sixth year,” Minerva confessed. “He said it wasn’t fair to the other students.” Urquart stifled an impressed smile. “I admit I’d hoped for something a little more thrilling than an office setting.”

He leaned back in the chair and put aside his teacup and saucer. “I can see that. I…” he paused for a moment before continuing. “Frankly, Minerva, an entry level job at an office in the Ministry won’t challenge you. Many of the jobs that will challenge you are not necessarily…” his eyes darted to the doors to the den, and he cast a _muffliato_ curse on the entryway. He leaned forward in his armchair. When he spoke again, his voice was precise and urgent.

“Minerva, the Auror office is in a shambles after the last war, and the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol is still cleaning up the nastier corners of dark wizards. The survivors of the war will not accept a woman—no matter how talented—right out of school.” He looked at her for understanding. She returned his gaze and nodded once.

“Now, that being said,” a mischievous smile crossed his bruised face, and she saw him wince slightly at the pain the expression cost him. “I can strongly recommend that you apply to the Witch Watchers. They’re a small and highly undervalued team of skilled witches who… well, don’t quite fit in with the rest of the Ministry. You’ll be more than qualified but I believe you’ll find it a challenge. Moreover, I think you’ll find it takes you to some interesting places. Does that sound interesting to you?”

She thought for a moment before responding. While not the swashbuckling premiere into the professional world she’d hoped, the thought of working on a small team and getting some travel under her belt was intriguing. “Yes, yes it does. How do I apply?”

He relaxed slightly and dismissed the _muffliato_. “Send an owl to my office, I’ll make sure Raj gives you the correct address. Include a statement of interest and a list of any achievements you’ve gained at Hogwarts—yes, include your involvement in the dueling club and independent study with Dumbledore. Oh, and your N.E.W.T. scores. That’s standard for a starting position.”

“Thank you.” Minerva found herself beginning to look forward to the next chapter in her life.

“You’re very welcome, Minnie. The Ministry needs more young people, and especially more young women. You can contact me at any time with questions. Alright?” He stood and extended his hand. Minerva rose and clasped his offered hand gladly.

“Alright. I’ll send you everything as soon as I can.”


	6. The job interview happens, and Minerva's home life is a drag

# 

June 1954

Minerva took the gilded lift to the second level of the Ministry of Magic, straightening her hat and smoothing her dress slightly. She was as prepared as three mock interviews with Dumbledore could make her, but nothing could ease the tightness in her stomach. The lift slowed and came to a stop. She strode through the doors and stopped to ask the wizard behind the front desk in a sharp suit for directions. When she arrived at her destination, she didn’t hesitate before knocking. No point in waiting, was there?

The door swung open and she entered to find several people chatting around the center portion of a long, slender table. One of people rose and turned to greet her. Urquart’s smile went from ear to ear and he leaned in as he shook her hand. “The Witch Watchers are my team. Did I forget to mention that?” She greeted the other two witches and took her seat at the table. One of the witches removed a cigar from between her thin lips and introduced herself as Trix Moody, but did not offer to shake hands. The other witch had her long hair in silver braids close to her scalp with beads that clacked as she reached out and silently snatched the portfolio out of Minerva’s arms. The two witches took a moment passing the papers back and forth before exchanging nods.

“‘S’it true you can turn into a cat?” Trix puffed smoke out through yellowed fingers. Minerva was slightly distracted by the smoke as it shaped into a four-legged figure and loped towards the ceiling. She refocused her eyes on her hands in front of her as she began to reconfigure her body into a smaller form. When she was tucked into her silken tabby body she jumped on the table and sniffed the air. The odors that reached her nose told her more about the other two women any sort of introductions ever could. Trix had been up for days, and a second heartbeat was barely audible through layers of charms and fabric. The other woman arrived from a desert climate less than an hour ago. To Minerva’s sensitive feline nose, she smelled of sand and death and decay.

“Willya lookat that, Bolts? She’s even got specs as a cat! Not bad for a bairn.”

Minerva leapt back into her seat and shifted back. She resettled her glasses on her face and smiled proudly at Trix. “Thank you. I’ve worked very hard at that.” Bolts made a note with her quill on a sheet and poised it on a new line.

“I can see that. How’s yer herbology? Gotta know you won’t go putting us in St. Mungo’s with your Polyjuice.”

Bolts shook with silent laughter at what appeared to be an inside joke.

“I’ve received top marks in Herbology on both O.W.L’s and N.E.W.T’s. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve brewed a Polyjuice potion several times without much difficulty.” She hoped they didn’t ask about the Draught of Living Death. She could do it, but it took some extra time.

“Right. Now, part of this interview is a little… unconventional. You ever used a penseive?”

Minerva shook her head.

“All fine, not as if they’re easy to come by. So. What you’ll do is summon up a memory of you dueling at yer best. Not a perfect spell, we want ta see you react with instinct.” The cigar smoke scampered into air. “Go ahead, take a minute to remember. Then pull it out o’ yer head through yer wand and put it in ‘ere. You’ll get it back after the interview process is over, we like to look ‘em over a few times.” Trix waved her wand over the center of the table. Panels separated and a rough bronze bowl rose from the space between them. It was filled with a shimmery liquid from which rose a light evanescent fog.

Minerva found the memory easily. The last duel she’d done before being named referee. Seeing the look of furious shock on Dolores’ face as she was trussed up by the vines and dragged off the dueling ground never got old. With a smile and a little difficulty, she pulled the memory from her temple and let it fall into the bowl. Bolts’ braids touched the liquid as she dipped her face into the bowl. Despite Minerva’s worry that she might drown or splutter, Bolts’ breath was steady.

Urquart spoke up for the first time since the interview began. “Sometimes she’ll watch it from a few angles, it’s alright if it takes a few minutes. Let’s have some tea.” He summoned four cups and a teapot. Trix pulled a flask from her jacket and poured a golden liquid into her cup before drinking. Minerva was unable to calm her nerves but managed to keep her hands steady as she took a long sip.

After what felt like an eternity, Bolts’ raised her head from the pensieve, nodded her head in thanks for the tea, and wrote down several lines of notes which Trix glanced over before continuing. No emotion passed between their faces or betrayed their thoughts.

The interview ended soon after. Urquart lead her back to the floo corridor in a companionable silence.

“Urquart, how did I do?” She couldn’t stop herself asking.

“Well I can’t really tell you that. I can say that Bolts was impressed with your dueling. She rarely keeps her face that straight.” He smiled. “We’ll let you know in a few days one way or another. No unnecessary waiting, I promise.” The doors opened and they exited the lift.

“Thank you for the opportunity,” Minerva said.

“Of course. Thank you for your faith in me.”

She looked up in surprise. “My faith in you?”

Urquart’s eyes creased in a smile. “I know this isn’t precisely what you were looking for, and I’m glad you gave my recommendation some thought. You’ll do well where you go, you know.” They shook hands. Minerva left quickly through the floo furnace and didn’t witness Urquart spend the next fifteen minutes walking irritably in circles around the fountain.

She floo’d straight to Hogwarts. Straight to the Great Hall, actually, where she sat in a tormented silence. There was a CRACK and Deppy appeared.

“Miss Minnie it is such a pleasure to see you! We thought you graduated. Why are you here during the summer?”

“Hello, Deppy! It’s good to see you, too. I just had a job interview in London and needed a place to calm down before I went home.” Minerva smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to disturb your work.”

There was another CRACK and a plate of biscuits appeared on the table. “Stay here as long as you like, Miss. Please summon Deppy if there’s anything else we can do.” The house elf patted her knee briefly and CRACK’d into thin air, leaving her alone once more. The biscuits gave her enough courage to apparate into the woods and shift into cat form before jumping through the front window and running upstairs to change. She wished she could have seen Mia again, but she was off for Quidditch tryouts in Belgium and wouldn’t be back for another week.

“I’m home, Mam!” She stepped downstairs in a checkered brown dress on which she’d had to let down the hem too many times. The house felt too small for her now. Too tired, too pastoral.

“I’m in the den, Minnie!” Her mother’s voice came from the back of the house. “Tell me all about it! Father’s outside and the boys are off in the fields.”

Isobel was mending the boys’ robes and fixing the holes that came with teenage wizards gallivanting across Hogwarts. While her mother no longer used magic, Minerva charmed the needles and thread to ensure fewer tangles and stronger stitches. Her mother sighed as she tied off a thread. “I really ought to teach those boys to mend their own damn clothes someday.”

Minerva sat next to her mother and picked up a sweater that had started to unravel. She wordlessly began to line up the stitches and reached for the crochet hook to pick up the laddered stitches. “I could teach them how to do it.” The words seemed to stick in the air oddly. They exchanged a look born of long conversations.

The summers at home often turned into midnight discussions in the kitchen between her and her mother. When she spotted her brothers exhibiting signs of magic, Minerva began to realize that Isobel knew all along and refused to prepare the children for the wizarding world. She wasn’t sure if it was denial or wishful thinking or simply stubbornness, but it infuriated Minerva. The anger was now a dull ache and she’d simply decided to offer help when it was needed. The two shared little about the wizarding world, and Minerva offered as little information as she could. Her mother believed she had gone into London to interview for a secretarial position in the Ministry, but now she feared the size of the lie would lead to greater repercussions if the truth was ever revealed.

“The interview went well, I think. It’s hard to tell with some of these administrators. They’re so used to interviewing, you know. Good at hiding their reactions. I think I have a fair shot.” Minerva tried to sound upbeat and cheerful. Her mother nodded sagely.

“Yes, yes, they do like to keep you guessing. You know we’ll support you wherever you go, but know that you always have a home here.” She smiled at her daughter warmly, but all Minerva felt was guilt.

“Thank you, Mam. I appreciate that.” She did. The words meant a lot to her. Always have a home here… as long as I don’t do magic. Okay, maybe she felt a bit of resentment, too.

“I’m sure you’re busy enough as it is, but I was wondering if you could do an errand for me tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

“I need you to go to the McGregor’s. Mrs. McGregor said she was having trouble with some… disturbances… in the back yard. I thought perhaps you might be able to take a look.”

Minerva lowered the sewing into her lap and looked at her mother.

“You want me to use–” Minerva was silenced by the sudden entrance of her father, who kissed warmly her on the cheek and pressed a cloth-wrapped package into her hands.

“Hullo, Minnie. Went into town to visit for the morning and saw this. Thought you might be needing it, now that you’re a career woman and all.” He seemed to realize that he’d walked into a private moment. “I’ll just put on another pot of tea.” He kissed his wife’s cheek and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Minnie, please.”

“Why don’t you just report it to the Ministry?”

Her mother’s voice was agonized. “I don’t want to report it to them… they’d have to come here, and then....” Minerva had a moment of realization. Her mother wasn’t trying to avoid the work, she was trying to avoid the temptation.

“I’m sorry, Mam. I’ll be happy to go and help.” She squeezed her mother’s hand and resumed her needlework.


	7. Minerva turns down a perfectly good Scotsman because of personal integrity

# 

Summer of 1954

Minerva’s mood was lighter when she left for the McGregor’s the next day. It was a golden summer day, and a cool breeze moved across the hills, brushing her skirts and twisting her hair. For the moment there was no Ministry or pressure or sewing. Just the sun and her feet and the path ahead. At the top of a hill she sat for a spell and breathed out across the valley.

She could see men and women working in the fields and the cows meandering across the pastures. The McGregor’s house was less than a half mile away down the hill. There was a small pond and a well-tended garden in the back of the house. The brush which held her mission seemed normal from this distance. As she descended, she thought she could spy some irregular rustling, but by the time she arrived the tangle of branches and underbrush was still. She wordlessly tidied her windblown hair as she raised her hand and rang the knocker.

The man who opened the door robbed her of her prepared greeting. Broad-shouldered and a middling height, he had a build that told a story spanning generations of farmers. Auburn hair was loosely pulled back away from his face in a ponytail, and the smile that lit his face made her heart hurt.

“I’m…” she stammered. The young man’s cheeks were tinted with a blush as he waved her inside. It felt like an eternity until he spoke.

“I’m Dougal. You must be Ms. McGonagall?”

Finally, she got out her words. “Please, call me Minnie. Me mam said you needed help in the garden?” In her nervousness she could feel her accent growing thicker. She wished she’d let her hair down to hide the red the was spreading across her face.

“Indeed. Seems to be some kind of pest. I tried some traps, bait, all the usual, but the little buggers seem to be cleverer than me.” He handed her a glass of water, which she took with thanks.

“May I see the affected area? I may have to make a trip or two in case I need something specialized.” To Minerva’s utter relief, her analytical mind began to take over. Dougal nodded and lead her to the back yard. She rolled up her sleeves and tucked her skirt into the waistband in a businesslike manner. Marching through the brush, she thought she heard a giggle and a hurried scamper deeper into the shadows. Pausing briefly, she turned back to Dougal.

“I don’t suppose you could give me a few moments? I think I can take care of this in a trice, but I’m afraid I may need to resort to some rather unladylike approaches.” She’d found that most men would make themselves scarce when threatened with a woman unbridled. He just grinned and ducked his head as he turned to leave. As she watched him walk back to the house, she thought he might have walked a little slower than absolutely necessary.

Turning back to the brush, she spent a few minutes rummaging about and clearing space to work while she crafted an illusion that would allow her to work unseen and undisturbed. The gnomes were an easy task, but she took her time enjoying the sun and her labor. Flinging one over her head, she felt an intense satisfaction at watching it sail twenty feet and squish into a particularly muddy part of the pond. To finish off the job she placed some protective charms along the northern perimeter. Standing proud, she placed her wand back in the pocket in her skirts and dismissed her illusions.

“Are you done, then?” Dougal’s voice came from a few yards behind where she was standing.

She whipped around. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a second. I just came out to see if you needed any help, but it looks as if you’re done.” He sounded impressed.

“Indeed.” She beamed. “Just takes a little elbow grease. Shouldn’t bother you again for a while, at least.” She dusted off her hands and began the short trek back. Dougal offered his hand for the last stretch she took it gratefully. When she stumbled, he caught her by her waist and lifted easily out of the brambles. It took her a long moment to get her feet on the ground, but he kept her grounded while she gained her footing back.

“Thank you, Dougal.” She stepped back out of his supporting embrace. His eyes were riveted on his feet.

“You’re of course very welcome at any time, very happy to help. That last step can be tricky.” His eyes flit up to hers, and then they didn’t seem to leave. She couldn’t shake the smile on her face.

“Tea?”

“Yes, that sounds lovely.”

They took hands and walked into the house together.

* * *

For the next two months, Minerva thought of little else but Dougal. Most days he worked on his family’s farm and went to bed with the sun, but on Sundays he was hers. After church the two walked hand in hand through fields and talked at length. On more than one occasion they watched the sun set in a warm embrace, hidden from the world by the golden fields. He understood her in a sense that no one in her worlds had. Her desire for independence, her love of… she called it ‘city life’. In a way, she suspected he loved her because of it. But he also loved her courage and her ability to ask two questions for every answer she found.

She understood his loyalty and ties to his family and envied his love of their community and connection to the earth. He had a sense that went beyond magic. A sense of the weather, the crops, the wind. He was keenly intelligent, and she felt the same passion within him that she had in herself. A muggle farmer and a witch. Their story was an old one, and she knew how it would end. Some part of them accepted that she would leave for London at the end of the summer and he would stay in Scotland, but neither wanted to discuss the inevitability of their lives apart.

It wasn’t until Minerva received an owl in early August that her world came crashing back to reality. The letter was from Urqhart, and it contained a job offer—a very generous job offer—to begin on the first of September. There were apologies for the delay and hope that she would still accept, but they all seemed to pass through her mind. Her ears rang.

“Hallo, Minnie! Happy Saturday, wot!” Her brother Rabbie leaned in through the window, and she jumped several feet in the air.

“Rabbie, I swear to God above I’ll skin you if you do that one more time.” She scowled.

“No, you won’t. Not when Dougal’s coming just behind me.” His voice was gently teasing. Rabbie was the least troublesome of the two, and the one who knew her best. He’d worked summers with Dougal and had a good sense of what had been going on all summer. “He’s been a little off today, to be honest. Everything all right with you two?”

She turned to Rabbie and kissed his cheek. “All’s fine as far as I know. You gonna lurk about a bit?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Nah, I’m out to help Malcolm air his mattress. Apparently he’s completely forgotten how to levitate. Wish I could forget everything from school in two months.” He let out a dramatic sigh and pushed himself away from the windowsill. “I’m out of your hair.”

“What a shame! I rather thought you might like to come on a walk with us.” Dougal wrapped his arms around Rabbie’s middle and, despite loud protests, picked him up in a fireman’s carry. “You know, though,” he paused to dodge a flailing limb. “He might hold us up, Minnie. Perhaps he should stay here.” He placed the young man back on his feet. Rabbie gathered up what was left of his dignity and made his way inside.

Minerva leaned out the window and pulled Dougal in by his collar for a kiss. One of his hands slid up to cup her face and pull her in closer. When they finally broke away he rested his forehead against hers for a breath. “Would you like to go for a walk? I’ve something to ask you.” She nodded silently and tucked the letter into her pocket. Urqhart could wait.

They wandered to a newly-ploughed field on his father’s land that gave her favorite view of the valley. She could see for miles from here, and it made her feel boundless. He came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms, gently placing a soft kiss on her neck.

“How’s my girl?”

It was so easy to forget wands and robes when she was near Dougal, and she let herself do it once again. “I thought of you all day.” She turned around and slid her arms around him, resting in his solid presence.

“Minnie, love.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and took a breath as if to speak, but then kissed her again.

“Yes, Dougal?” The sun and his arms warmed her through in the golden glow of the sun.

He clasped her small hands in his and knelt down in the fresh earth. “I know you have plans for your future, Minnie, and I want to be a part of them forever.” He pressed his lips to her fingers. “Will you make room for me and be my wife?” His warm brown eyes gazed up at her, and she knew her answer. She sank to her knees next to him and pulled him to her.

“Yes. Yes, all else in my life be damned, yes.”

He laughed in relief. “I’ll make you happy. You can teach here in the village, I’ll have my family’s farm, we’ll have our own home by next year’s harvest.”

They watched the sun set together, and when she went home in the evening she couldn’t bring herself to give up her happy secret. She said her good nights and went directly to sleep.

A gentle tapping at her window at the witching hour bolted her awake. Wand in hand, she turned to the window to find Mia smiling apologetically.

“Mia!” She hissed, opening the window. “Merlin’s balls, woman, what the hell are you doing here?” Her friend clambered through the window and gave her a bony hug.

“I’m so sorry to surprise you, Minnie, but I simply couldn’t wait. Urqhart came for dinner tonight and said he sent you the offer for the job and oh, I’m so happy! You can live in London and have dinner with us and… I’ve missed you so much, how was your summer?”

Minerva found herself struggling for words. “Mia… I’ve. I’ve gone and got in a muddle.” The golden glow of Dougal’s promises vanished. “I don’t know what I’ve done.” Her friend’s face grew concerned.

“Minnie, what’s happened? Are you alright? I’m here now if you want to tell me!”

“I… I got the job offer today, and then I went walking with Dougal and now I’m to be married. I cannot be both a witch and a wife to a muggle farmer, Mia. The Statute will not allow for this. It would reveal my entire family. What have I promised?” She pulled her knees up to her chin and buried her face in her arms. Mia wordlessly settled in next to her and pulled her into her arms.

“Oh, lovey. It will all look better in the morning. Will you let me help you sleep?”

Minerva stretched and nodded in agreement, and her friend gently spelled her to rest.

“It will be clearer tomorrow.”

She raised her hand and knocked on the door as hard as she could. Mrs. McGregor opened it and gave her a swift embrace. “Good morning, Minnie! It’s good to see you so early. Didn’t think you and Dougal could stay apart so long, myself.” Minerva tried to extricate herself from the hug as gently as possible.

“Where is Dougal, ma’am? I need to have a word with him.” Her heart was heavy, but she knew now the right thing to do.

“Oh, he’s in the back getting ready to work.”

“Thank you, I’ll go find him. I won’t keep him long, I hope.”

Mrs. McGregor gave her a wink. “You take as long as you need, dear.”

She found Dougal washing his face at the back of the house. When he saw her face, his smile faded.

“Minerva? What’s happened, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” He took her hand, but she slowly took it back.

“Dougal.” She took a deep breath. “I owe you this much of the truth–I’ll not lie to you.” Another breath. “I cannot stay here, and you cannot leave. I do love you, but I cannot marry you.” She held up her hand between him to stop him from speaking. “I am so, so sorry. But I cannot give up so much so fast. I’ll not ask you to wait, for I will not make you promises.” She felt her voice give. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Minnie… what–”

“I won’t!” She snapped, and he flinched away.

She walked away around the corner of the house, leaving him behind. As soon as she was out of sight, she shifted into her cat form and bolted, letting her four legs and nose carry her to her family’s house. She had to leave.

Mia was waiting for her at the house, and she jumped into her arms. Her face buried in her friend’s elbow, she felt Mia’s hand softly scratch her ears and rub the crown of her head. “Shhhh, shh. I’ve packed your things like you asked, would you like to go now?” Minerva leapt down and shifted back. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks splotched, but her face was set.

“Yes. Yes, I’m ready.” She placed a letter on the kitchen table, grasped her luggage, and the two women apparated to London.


	8. Trying out Witch Watchers and assessing options

Minerva reported to Urquart’s office on Monday morning at eight o’clock. She had been told the office dress code was “witch hunter casual”, so she appeared in her least restrictive robes and her most intimidating boots. The glistening new badge on her robes felt very official and did very little to offset the pit in her stomach. Her heartbreak was her own making, but she couldn’t force it to dissipate. She did her best to shove the hollowness aside and smile as she placed her hand on the handle and pushed. When the door opened and she saw Urquart and several other wizards lounging about in the office.

“Hallo! She’s here.” Urquart stood to introduce her. “This here’s Minerva as I’m sure you all know by now. You’ve already met Trix and Bolts, of course, and also meet Bones, Nails, and Corbie. We don’t often go by full names here for many reasons, so you’ll need a nickname eventually.”

Bones was a round man in his 50’s with red cheeks and a rather out of fashion cap, which he raised cordially. Nails was a young woman only a few years older than Minerva who was clad in flowing black robes, and Corbie was a serious-faced man who acknowledged her with a handshake and a firm clap on her shoulder. The brief awkward silence after introductions was broken by Trix lighting a cigar.

“Glad to have you here, girl. Let’s do a tour.” Trix took her in a whirlwind around the offices. There was a room for brewing potions and one filled with clothing and yet another with display cases full of contraptions ranging from the size of her thumbnail to a textbook. “We’ll spend Tuesday with these. Bones can show you what’s what.” The last place they showed her was a room full of bunks, not unlike her dormitory at Hogwarts.

“This here’s a good place to stay while you’re in town if you don’t want to bother your family or friends, or if you need to stay overnight. It’s linked to a safehouse in Dublin, so you can always nip outside for a good drink.” Indeed, when she peered out the window, Minerva could see the dome of Trinity College’s bell tower to the east.

# 

1956

It was a colder January than expected. Minerva had spent the holidays undercover, keeping an eye on a woman who was in hiding. The woman was extraordinarily fond of cats, and Minerva found herself growing a little attached. She’d even taken an old box and put a carpet over it so the animagus had shelter, and had begun regularly leaving a dish of canned fish on the back porch.

Minerva’s work with the Witch Watchers was rarely exciting, but it gave her endurance and a chance to work with people far more skilled than herself. Some of the more intense undercover work had been a welcome distraction. When she’d received a letter from Rabbie in October recounting Dougal’s wedding, she had managed to lose herself in a particularly complex series of protective sleeper animation spells on a Ministry official’s garden statues. Perhaps they would be a bit more bloodthirsty than needed when summoned, but they’d do the job.

The woman she was Watching was declared out of danger when the muggles had their memories removed by Bones and Nails, and Minerva received permission to return to the Witch Watchers Office. It was past midnight when she arrived, so she changed into a long flannel nightgown and poured a whiskey. The fire was blazing and warm, and her favorite chair was in its rightful place. She rummaged in her trunk for the quilt her mother sent a few Christmases ago and pulled it tight across her shoulders. This place had become a touchstone for her since she started. Not a home, but a place to center and recuperate before the next mission. She hadn’t even seen her home since she took the job, but thankfully everyone seemed to understand. Her mother had even come into London for school shopping one year and the two met for tea—a gesture that meant more than Minerva could possibly say. The two women would probably never see eye to eye, but her mother came to understand–if not to fully respect–her decision.

There was no longing for her family’s house or the busy parish. Minerva almost felt guilty for being so content away from her family, but she got the feeling in correspondence it was mutual. The letters that arrived from Rabbie and Malcolm were chatty and relaxed and largely concerned the shenanigans they were getting into at Hogwarts. She swore she’d never known two boys so intent on causing trouble, but it seemed harmless and mostly to get the attention of their classmates. Rabbie was set to leave Hogwarts in the spring, and he’d stay at the family farm. Malcolm was ambitiously working towards working in magical agriculture, which meant he could still go home regularly, and he hoped to build his own house nearby.

She was just beginning to nod off when the door opened and a figure wrapped in shadows entered. Instinct brought her wand to hand, but the familiar pattern of approaching steps let her relax again.

“Hallo, Golly. Clock said you were back.” He came up behind her armchair and patted her shoulder. “Glad to see you safe.”

“You as well, Urquart.” She had never bothered to think why he didn’t have a nickname like the others, but she figured it had something to do with levels of professionalism. “All calm here?”

“Yes, yes. All’s well.” He took off his coat and robes and placed his hat on his bunk before collapsing in the other chair near the fire. He looked too thin, and as he unbuttoned the top of his shirt she could see his scars standing out stark against his already pale skin. He kicked his shoes off and put his feet up, gratefully accepting a long drink from Minerva’s whiskey glass. “How are you, Minnie dear?”

His fond familiarity felt more like home than her family’s house ever had. “I’m tired, Urquart. I think… I think I need a short vacation.”

“Probably smart.” Another drink of whiskey. “Will you go home?”

“No. Elphinstone. Not there. He married last year, and I just can’t. But I can’t stay here, you see. There’s no room here for me.” As soon as she said it, she knew it was true. When she breathed out it was to release air that wanted to be a sob. He leaned nearer and gently grasped her hand as she let the tears roll down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry—” she began, but he squeezed her hand lightly.

“It’s hard to be human in this job. When it comes, it comes.” His eyes were compassionate and kind, with no hint of condescension. “I know.” The whiskey glass traded hands and she emptied it. “Where will you go?”

She rested the glass on the arm of the chair. “I think I may go back to Hogwarts for a day or two. It’s the only place I don’t have to… I can be myself there.” He nodded and pulled out a slightly rumpled handkerchief, which he gave to her to clear the wetness from her face. “Thank you.”

“I’ll take care of the paperwork, you sleep in and leave when you’re ready. No one except us here for the next few days.” He patted her hand and refilled her glass.

“Everyone alright?” She remembered to ask.

“Yes, yes. Everyone’s just fine.”

“Good.”

“Minnie?”

“Yes?”

“If you ever need a reference, do feel free to put down my name.” His eyes flicked to hers and was rewarded with a small smile.

“I will. No surprises, I promise.”

He huffed lightly. “I suspect that I shall always be surprised by you.” A corner of his mouth quirked, and she thought she saw a wink.

She managed a deep breath, and felt a glimmer of hope bloom in her chest.

* * *

The doors of Hogwarts were open as she landed in the courtyard. Settling her broom over her shoulder, she slipped through the door to find Dumbledore striking a pose on the main staircase.

“Welcome home, Minerva.”

“Hello, Professor. And just how long have you been standing like that waiting for me?” She set down her belongings to embrace her mentor.

“Only a few minutes. You do walk so slowly nowadays. I don’t suppose you’d stay the week?” He pulled away and patted her arm.

“Yes, I think I shall.”

“Good. Our transfiguration professor was just promoted to headmaster, so the rooms are free. I think the rooms might suit you, in fact.” She looked at him in surprise. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“Oh, congratulations! No one better for the job. Not one.” She clapped him hard on the shoulder and shook it warmly. “Who’s taking the transfiguration spot?”

“Let’s talk about that over tea, why don’t we?”

The two friends stayed up deep into the night. They ended up lounging on the floor of the Headmaster’s Study. Dumbledore wanted to hear all about the situation of things at the Ministry, and she wanted to know all the gossip of Hogwarts. Minerva felt a little adventurous sprawled on the carpet with all the portraits gazing down at her, but a few seemed happy to see her back and greeted her with smiles and waves.

One portrait scowled down at them both. “I say! This is very undignified. I know you’re new, Albus, but do consider your status.”

“Bugger off, Phineas.” Dumbledore made a rude gesture in the vague direction of the portrait behind his desk. Phineas spluttered and exited through the side of the frame, cursing and muttering as he exited the office through the other portraits on a slow march of disapproval.

“Are we being terribly undignified? I do feel very informal.” A look of worry crossed Minerva’s face, but Dumbledore waved it away.

“Nonsense! Good to have you back. Worth making Phineas a little upset every now and then. It’s my office, after all, and I plan to be here for quite a while.” He smiled broadly into the dying fire. “Are you happy?” He asked suddenly.

Minerva looked at him in surprise. “What?”

“At the Ministry. Are you happy?”

“I… I don’t suppose I am.” She tucked her hands behind her head. “It’s all very well and good to distract me from life, but it’s rather stopped me from having one, in the end.”

“Hmm. I thought that might be the case. You know they asked me to be Minister this year?”

“What?” She let out a laugh of surprise. “Why didn’t you say yes?”

There was a long silence before he responded. “It simply didn’t seem right to have a man who made his name in a war leading the government. We’re in a time of peace, now. They don’t need me there anymore.”

“Oh, but they need you teaching children?” The harsh words escaped her mouth before she could stop them. She clapped her hand to her mouth and shook her head in apology.

“No, no, don’t apologize. I suppose you’re right, in a way. I started here because Dippet asked me after the war and I needed to get away from the politics and the rush. I never thought I’d stay.” He sighed and stretched his legs out. “The children are more important than the grownups, here.” They lounged in an agreeable silence for several breaths.

“You once told me that my first job didn’t have to be a career.” Her words came out slowly.

“I do believe I did.”

“I have grown as a Watcher and learned a great deal, but I don’t ever think i will be very good at it. Or very happy. I don’t have much else in my life apart from work, and I think that I would like to try to find a job where I can be happy. At least a little.”

“So you are not even a little happy?” His said, curious.

“Only between missions. I like the training, the learning and teaching. I am happy with my team and coworkers.” She smiled at the ceiling, remembering evenings spent around the fire, playing a private drinking with Urquart game while Trix and Bones recounted their adventures with embellishment. “Sometimes, I am happy. But always in the corners of the job. Never in the job itself.”

“Would you consider teaching here for a year?”

She sat up straight, and the blood rushed to her head. “Teach here?”

“Well yes. You wanted to once.” Dumbledore propped himself up on one elbow and levitated another log onto the fire. “You can now, if you like.”

“I did. I do. I would.”

“So you will?” His smile was familiar. He knew he’d won.

“I will.”


	9. War Buds! And also Slughorn being a gossipmonger

Leaving the Watchers was difficult, but Urquart made her promise she’d come back for holiday parties and special occasions. Bolts taught her a curious charm to bewitch her glasses so she could see written lies—very useful for grading—and Trix gave her a volume of heavy duty protective spells to use in her office. New teachers, Minerva was told, were subject to all kinds of abuse from students and colleagues alike.

In July, Urquart insisted on going with her to Hogwarts and helping her settle her room and office. He hadn’t been back in years and was dying of curiosity. When Dumbledore crossed the threshold of Minerva’s suite, the two men greeted each other with cries of joy. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Urquart so close to tears.

“Albus, dear fellow, what a joy to see you.”

“It’s been years, Elphinstone. Why have you not come to see me?” Dumbledore’s voice was full of joke reproach, but there was a shadow of pain in Urquart’s eyes.

“Wasn’t sure you’d really want your old war pals in your quiet school.”

Minerva scoffed. “I thought you’d been here before, Urquart.”

“Sorry, I meant your madhouse. Where the inmates are the teachers, apparently.” He grinned, and she rolled her eyes with a smile. “How’s the leg? Still taking you south all the time?”

Albus laughed, a full-throated laugh that filled the room. “Thanks to you it goes where I tell it, although it took some time, let me tell you. Come, come, help me set up Minerva’s door so Slughorn doesn’t try to set listening spells on it. I swear, the man will not rest until he knows what goes on in every room of this school.”

Urquart drew out his wand and began to reveal the enchantments set about the room. “I dare say he’s already set up a few and you just haven’t noticed them, Albus.” The other man scoffed.

“He wouldn’t have.”

“Bet you ten galleons he already has.”

Albus was fifty galleons poorer by the time they were done, and Minerva mentally scheduled a meeting with Slughorn. She found herself looking forward to the near future. That felt better than she could have imagined.

On his last morning at Hogwarts, Urquart handed her a wrapped package which she opened with trepidation.

“After this week, I half expect this to have a coiled snake inside!”

“Come now, I’d never do such a thing to you.” He grinned at her. She carefully removed the wrappings, revealing a mirror the size of her hand.

She chuckled warmly. “I appreciate the kind thought, Urquart, but do you really think I’ll need to care for my looks here?” He blushed slightly and shook his head. “Or is this so I can do muggle magic tricks on my students?”

“Minnie, it’s… it’s a two-way mirror. I have the other one. They’re so we can talk every once in a while. Completely private. If you ever need me, you can contact me directly.”

She peered at it closely to obscure her tears. “Thank you. This means the world to me.”

“You like it, then?”

She nodded wordlessly. He leaned in and gently kissed her cheek. “I’m glad.” She placed the mirror on her desk and wrapped her arms around his neck, returning the affectionate gesture. “I shall miss you most of all.”

“I shall miss you, too.”

“Will you come here some holidays?”

He pulled back. “To Hogwarts?”

“Where else would I have to invite you?” She laughed.

“I’d be honored.” His voice caught. “It’s been a while since I’ve spent time somewhere that wasn’t the Ministry.”

“Mmm. I know. I’ll bet that you don’t know as many secret passageways as I do.”

“I’ll take that bet.” He placed his hand under her chin briefly before pulling away. “We’ll see.”

* * *

“Hullo, Professor McGonagall!” Rubeus Hagrid filled the frame of her door. “S’good to see you back, if I may say so.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hagrid. It’s good to see you too.” She smiled warmly. He’d grown even larger, and a beard now filled in much of his lower face. He kept his hair back in a ponytail now, and she could see that he’d been sewing his own clothes. Perhaps if Malcolm spent some time with him some of Hagrid’s good habits would rub off. “What can I do for you?”

“I was heading into Diagon Alley this week for some supplies as I do for some of the professors and I was wondering if you had anything you might be needing me to pick up for you.” He waved a handful of lists in various handwritings and scrawls.

“Mr. Hagrid, do you mean to tell me that you’re doing the professors’ shopping for them?” Her lips thinned into a straight line and her eyes narrowed.

“Well, I go anyways and usually pick up things for Slughorn, but word’s got around and I’ll pick up things to save others the trip. Not that I mind, ‘cept that it makes for a long day an’ it’s real hot outside, but someone’s got to do it, you know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hagrid, but I’ll be happy to get the supplies myself. It will do me good to get out of the school before things pick up. I do appreciate the offer, though. Perhaps we could meet for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron?” She smiled at him over her glasses. “I’d like to hear what sort of work you’ve been up to, I can see you’ve quite cleaned up Professor Kettleburn’s pens. The cottage looks lovely.”

Hagrid beamed. “I’d like that, Professor. Don’t get ‘round to talking much to people nowadays, mostly I just deal with the magical creatures an’ grounds.”

“It’s a plan, then. You’re going to London when?”

“Likely to be Thursday, ma’am.”

“Thursday it is. Thank you, Mr. Hagrid.”

“Just Hagrid, if you please.” He ducked out of the door. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Goodbye, Hagrid.”

He closed the door gently, leaving her once again to her work.


	10. Faculty meetings are often boring but never dull

The first faculty meeting of the year was held the Wednesday before the semester began. While several professors filled their goblets from the pitchers of butterbeer, a few pulled flasks from their pockets and added a few drams of the amber contents. As soon as she sat down, Minerva was passed a spiked goblet from the neighboring Professor Beery, who shook her hand in a warm welcome.

“Welcome, Professor McGonagall! I hear from Pomona you’ve been off saving lives an’ such.”

She didn’t try to suppress a smile. “I suppose that’s as good an explanation as any. Unfortunately, I can’t go into much detail. I’m very glad to be back here, I don’t mind saying.”

“Of course, of course. It’s good to have you back.” He uncapped his flask and poured the remnants into his goblet. “Don’t take any shit from anyone, dear.” She eyebrows shot up. “I don’t expect I need to tell you that, though.” He smiled and took a long drink.

“Speaking of shit,” Kettleburn was seated next to Minerva, yet he yelled as if Beery was at the far end of the table, “I’m afraid the dragon dung’ll be a few weeks late, Herb. My supplier’s a bit stopped up at the moment.”

“Silvanus, dragon dung is rather essential to–”

“Actually, Professor, ‘scuse me for interrupting, but I spoke wi’ a friend o’ mine in London and we’ll have it ‘ere firs’ thing Monday.” Hagrid removed his hat and squeezed into the seat next to Beery, who looked as if he’d like to hug the gamekeeper.

“Hagrid, you are a gem. Have a butterbeer.”

Hagrid patted his beard to hide his pleased smile. “Thankee, sir.” Kettleburn grunted and nodded at his assistant.

“Good work, Rubeus.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Hello, everyone. Welcome back for another school year. Shall we begin?” There were murmurs of agreement around the table. “Brilliant. Who is taking notes?” There was a long silence, and Slughorn raised his hand. “Excellent, thank you Horace.” 

“Actually, Albus, I was thinking that the most junior person at the table should take notes.” He smiled graciously at Minerva. “It might give her a chance to learn how we do things around here.” She looked at him evenly and raised an eyebrow.

"I expect she’d better learn by asking questions rather than taking notes.” Professor Greengrass shook her head and ‘tsk’d reproachingly. “Honestly, I don’t see why this happens every meeting.” She reached for the quill, ink, and parchment, but rather than prepare to write, she murmured over the quill for a moment. It began to spin on its tip wildly and then slowed, dipping into the ink and hovering over the parchment. “Very well, let’s begin.” The quill began to dictate in a clean, elegant hand. Slughorn huffed slightly and shrugged.

Dumbledore smiled. “Thank you, Laurel. A very effective and fair solution. First order of new business: as I am now Headmaster and have rather more duties than I did previously, it was prudent to select a new Transfiguration professor. It gives me great pleasure to reintroduce you to Minerva McGonagall, who has spent two years with Magical Law Enforcement and comes highly recommended. I’m sure many of you will remember her well.” There were only a few introductions needed. An elderly witch squinted at Minerva for a moment before her bright eyes widened and she began to laugh.

“You were the student who tangled up the Slytherin girl in the dueling club. Very strong vines, if I recall correctly. What a good match that was! I knew you’d come back to Hogwarts.” She touched a finger to her temple and then gently rubbed an amulet that hung around her neck.

Minerva inclined her head towards the astrology professor with a smile. “Thank you, Professor Prewett. I have learned some restraint since my fifth year… but my vines are better than ever.”

Prewett smiled like a Cheshire cat.

“Second order of business.” Dumbledore looked around the table sternly. “Professor Beery has announced that after next school year he will be retiring. As we have ample time to search, I move that we submit considerations for future professors at next year’s meeting.”

“Seconded.” Beery raised his hand.

“Objections?” Silence.

“Motion carried.” The quill scratched away.

The meeting carried on in a dry manner for some time, until Minerva thought she would fall asleep. Finally, Albus asked “Anyone have any other new business? Questions?” She raised her hand. He smiled and gestured for her to continue.

“I have a question, because I’ve received some conflicting impressions and I want to clarify. When I need supplies for classes, how do I go about procuring them?”

“Minerva, dear,” Slughorn patted her hand, “Just ask Hagrid to pick them up in Diagon Alley, he doesn’t mind.” A few other professors nodded in agreement. 

Greengrass scoffed. “I’ve always just gone into Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade and bought it myself. We have allocated funds for this, after all, and most shopkeepers will deliver it to Hogwarts for a small surcharge. Hardly worth bothering Hagrid, the man has enough to do!”

“Oh, come, Laurel, he’s done it for me for years!”

Hagrid’s cheeks were getting redder by the second, and Dumbledore finally interjected.

“It has been my understanding that each faculty member is responsible for acquiring their own materials and supplies. This is not, as far as I am aware,” he turned his gaze to Slughorn, “Under Hagrid’s purview.” The Potionsmaster had the grace to blush and look down.

* * *

Minerva loved her office. The tall windows that let in the morning sun looked down to the lake, and when opened allowed in a cool breeze. When she worked late, which she often did, the lights of Hogsmeade could be seen in the distance. It was her own space with a door that closed and a desk she could arrange however she liked. She rehearsed the first lesson over and over again, trying different ways of standing and pacing.

The thought of working with children was daunting. For the last two years she’d been camouflaged, staying out of sight, and avoiding contact with people. The magic she used was highly specialized and powerful, but now she was preparing to stand in front of large groups of children and teach them the fundamentals of transfiguration. Her mind oscillated between confidence and the nasty inner voice that hissed, “Who are you to be taking their learning into your own hands? What have you done to be qualified for this?” Ultimately she decided to shift into her feline form and take a nap on the sun-drenched hardwood floor. The nasty inner voice was silent as long as she was in a cat form. Something to do with the feline mind and confidence, the rational part of her supposed. Perhaps cats simply didn’t feel that way.

Her instincts bolted her awake and she found herself on all fours and bolting underneath her own desk, but the only thing she could hear was a pair feet passing in the hallway. Sometimes shifting into a cat had the potential to be embarrassing. Fortunately she was alone and there was no one to see her crawl sheepishly from the shadows and stretch before she sprawled out again in a warm shaft of light.

Owls arrived regularly from Mia, but the snowy one that arrived in the spring of Minerva’s first year at Hogwarts had ribbons and a jaunty lace cap. The letter it grasped in its talons announced the wedding of Ms. Euphemia Kapur and Mr. Fleamont Potter. The two eloped just after Christmas, shocking all relatives and friends, for Potter was many years Mia’s senior and had no familiarity with her family at all. Mia had been independent for several years while playing with the Montrose Magpies and met Fleamont through his sponsorship of her team.

The letter that followed the wedding announcement told of their initial bonding over quidditch and hair products. They came to realize that they both wanted similar things in life--family, love, and broomsticks. Minerva had an open invitation to visit for any holidays she wanted to visit, but as the gaps between their correspondence lengthened, she and her friend began to drift apart. Their lives had grown in very different directions. The fondness was still there, but the two had less and less to talk about as time went on.

* * *

Her first year teaching at Hogwarts went by faster than she could have believed, and while there were a few bumps along the way, Minerva was asked to stay and continue teaching. She accepted gratefully and threw in her hat with Beery’s to invite Pomona to teach at Hogwarts. As there were few other names suggested, Pomona began the following year and the friends were reunited.

Beery’s departure left a trail of havoc. He kept scant records and Pomona was left with little to go on but a small address book that hadn’t been updated for a decade. Once Hagrid heard of her predicament, the two went to Diagon Alley and Pomona was introduced to several people who knew others who knew suppliers in some odd countries. Through these roundabout backchannels the new Herbology teacher managed to keep the plants going and even expand some of the more advanced and rare herb plots.

There was some wrangling in faculty meetings, but it was ultimately agreed that the Herbology department could begin supporting some materials for faculty research, and Slughorn and Pomona began to work together to grow reliable resources. Sprout’s new department flourished.

The two women became comfortable allies at work, and they spent lengthy evenings comparing curricula and sharing stories. Minerva was relieved to work with someone close to her own age. Discussions with Dumbledore often ended in her feeling mollified but not heard, and it was a relief to be able to rant and express frustration.

“I swear, if I have to hear Slughorn call me ‘charming’ one more time, I’m going to turn his store of dragon’s blood into treacle!” Despite the vehemence of her friend’s claim, Pomona found herself laughing.

“Can you imagine him trying to remove warts with treacle? Cor, what I’d give to see that.”

Minerva giggled at the thought. “His socks would get quite sticky.” Her giggles dissipated. “Perhaps I _should_ do it.”

“Save it for a rainy day, professor.” Pomona grinned.


	11. A simple visit to the library becomes a social lesson on pureblood supremacy

# 

1959

“Albus?” Minerva knocked lightly on the open door. It was a hot day in the middle of summer and she was avoiding her classroom by going through a long list of small tasks she'd put off completing. Napping was not always an effective use of time, and she had work to do.

“Yes?” He looked up from his desk, which was piled high with rolls of parchment and books.

“If I wanted to subscribe to _Transfiguration Today_ , how would I do that?” She leaned on the doorframe and absently crossed her arms.

"Try the library, it's where I get mine. Lovegood will put in a subscription for you. Or, you could just have mine when I'm done reading it." Albus looked back down at his work and shifted some papers around without much enthusiasm.

"You're never done with your issues, you go over them constantly," she said pointedly.

"Will you stop going on about my issues?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled over his glasses and a playful smile hovered over his face.

"Fine, then. I'm off to ask Lovegood. Maybe they'll help me with my own issues." She said briskly.

"Ha!"

Minerva closed the door before he could say anything else, stopping to thank the gargoyle on her way out. She halted on the landing to lean over the railing and gaze down at the maze of moving stairs. Looking at the constant shifting and rearranging always made her vaguely dizzy, but that never stopped her from doing it. Shaking the vertigo, she continued down to the library. The large double doors were heavy but swung open easily.

The library was full of books rearranging themselves in the proper order on shelves, carts wheeling through the stacks, and the glow of dusting charms as they gently flowed down the bookcases, leaving neat little piles of dust in the walkway which were swept up by an enchanted broom and dustpan. The place seemed alive with activity despite the lack of visible humans. Minerva could hear tuneless singing coming from behind a tall leaning pile of books, and as she approached she saw the librarian at work.

Delysia Lovegood whirled around at their workstool, their glasses making their blue eyes appear three times larger than the actually were. They had lots of wavy blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun held up only by a short slender wand that threatened to fall out at any moment.

"Minerva? Hello! How nice to see you, do come in." The librarian did not stop waving their hands over an ancient tome. As Minerva watched, the threadbare spine stitched itself together and the dry leather cover began to gleam as if it were brand new. She stopped staring at the handiwork as Lovegood's words reached her ears. "What can I do for you?"

Minerva found her words. "I was wondering if I could ask you for another subscription to _Transfiguration Today_. I rather like to read it, and you know how Dumbledore hoards his copies." The librarian, having finished their task, put down their hands as they pursed their lips and raised their eyebrows, nodding with an understanding look. "Yes, yes he does. I'd be glad to do another subscription for you.”

“Thank you, Lovegood. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” Minerva smiled gratefully.

“Of course! Glad to help our faculty, as always. I say, I don’t suppose you could help me with something?” Lovegood stood up, brushing the dust off their brightly-colored dress and stomping the feeling back into their right leg.

Minerva steadied the librarian as their knee gave in to pins and needles. “I’ll certainly be happy to do whatever I can. What do you need?” She was lead through the stacks to the home charms section, where a set of knives were shelved alongside the cooking books. “May I ask about the knives?”

The librarian laughed. “Yes, that’s what I need your help with. You see, the book keeps changing into a set of knives and I can’t quite figure out why. I can change it back—“ they prodded the block that held the knives and it turned into a book on proper care of knives that looked to be from the late 1800s. Minerva picked up the volume and tapped it with her wand to reveal any other enchantments. Nothing happened.

“When did this start happening? Do you know?” She shook it lightly, and it clanked in response.

“Last summer, when I found it had been misclassified with the potions books. It was next to a book on cauldron care, so it made sense as to why it was placed there, but it’s certainly more about kitchen knives and garden shears than it is specialty potions blades.” Lovegood shrugged, mystified.

Minerva frowned. “Have you tried putting it back? Maybe there’s a reason it was there in the first place. It’s an old book, sometimes they just like being comfortable.”

The librarian nodded. “That’s true. We’ll try that until the school year starts. Usually it’ll turn back in a week or two. I’d weed it and get a new copy except that it’s the best text on the subject, and there simply haven’t been any reputable equivalents published that are written at a school level.” They walked together and placed the book in its previous location, and Lovegood changed the label. “I’ll have to change the catalog back.” They sighed. “You know, you try to keep the place up to specifications, but sometimes the collection has its own ideas. Only so much one librarian can do.” 

“What did your predecessor do? They must have left some kind of documentation.” It was standard procedure to make notes at the very least.

Lovegood laughed. “No, Burke didn’t really want anyone to touch the collection. He even scared his fellow librarian into quitting and Dippet never bothered to hire another one because Burke was so off-putting!” They untangled the fine chains on a book that floated several inches above its lectern. “The man only wanted his favorite students to use the books and did his best to scare all the others, or give them the wrong books. He was furious when he was fired, and destroyed most of his records. Fortunately he didn’t think to get rid of the institutional tomes, but he did enough damage that it’s put me back about thirty years.”

Minerva winced. “That’s horrific. I’m here if you ever need help wrestling things into submission. I’ve some experience with artifacts and the more malicious types of spells that crop up after a while.” She’d spent a week untangling curses in an old safehouse that had fallen out of use. Meant to be protective, the spells turned rather nasty after the previous mission went sour.

“Thank you.” Lovegood smiled. “I swear, sometimes I think the restricted section is after me. The man must have tried to expand the collection, but I think he focused in some pretty disgusting areas. Not sure what kind of research he was trying to support, and they’re well outside of our collection scope. I can’t really get rid of the books, though.” Their eyes darkened behind their comically large glasses. “Frankly, I don’t even want to deal with the folk who’d want to buy them from me.”

A thought popped into Minerva’s head. “So, I know this is true of some of the faculty offices and even some ancestral homes. Do libraries take on aspects of their librarians?”

The librarian’s eyes grew larger as they nodded emphatically. “Yes, and not just in a magical sense. The collections grow based on the preferences librarian who makes the purchases. We’re supposed to be unbiased and get multiple perspectives, methods, and so on, but everyone has their blind spots. You combine that with the magical aspects of being a school library—hundreds of patrons, and most of them don’t know what they’re doing—and it becomes absolute chaos.” they laughed and softly patted a statue that winked impishly in return. “We need more staff to keep things down, but… our student numbers are declining, so we’re unlikely to get new staff any time soon soon.”

“Student numbers declining? Why’s that?” Minerva asked. She had suspected that there were fewer students now than when she was in school, but she figured it was due to how much smaller they all looked now that she was grown.

“What happened twenty years ago?” The librarian's pointed question was laden with meaning. A pit appeared in Minerva’s stomach.

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” The wizarding war in the early 1940’s had ravaged the world and killed thousands of magic folk across the globe. Minerva had learned about it in class, but somehow never connected it to the current population. The librarian nodded.

“Entire families gone, Minerva. Half a generation of our people, all due to Grindelwald.” They said.

“I didn’t think it had been so bad.” The readings she remembered skimmed over most of the social aspects and focused on how the war changed the Ministry’s approach to the Dark Arts. Lovegood nodded knowingly.

“Of course you didn’t. The official numbers were never published, but we can see the effects across the world. There’s a reason the communication between countries is so sparse—many of the witches and wizards who spoke for alliances and sharing of information were killed. It didn’t used to be like this, all these fractured schools and countries.”

Minerva wracked her brain to remember. “Were Grindelwald’s followers so numerous?”

“Not necessarily his followers, but people who were…” The librarian waved their hand, searching for the right phrase. “Ideologically aligned, shall we say. There are pureblood supremacists who will take up any cause to serve their own ends.” They beckoned, and lead Minerva to the restricted section. A tall slender bookcase with silver hinges opened at their approach, and the librarian took out a single volume.

“This is one of our rarer volumes. A journal that was printed only a few times, purchased by Burke’s fellow librarian just before she left. Something tells me this was one of their key disagreements.” They handed it to Minerva. "It was written by a wandmaker who was studying countries and wand cores." Flipping through the fine pages, Minerva could see it contained graphs of types of cores per year sold, matches, and some analysis of the procurers of the items.

“These numbers… these are large percentages, Delysia.” Her hands shook as the knowledge began to settle in.

“I know. Now,” the librarian pushed their glasses up, “the numbers don’t account for the amount of trade done in the 16th and 17th centuries and the rise in families passing down ancestral wands, but it’s the most complete work we have.”

Something about this didn’t strike Minerva as correct. “So why do we have a copy?”

Lovegood shrugged. “Beats me. I’m guessing the librarian wanted to start a small wandmaking collection, but left before they were able to get a proper foundational selection. Old Herbology teacher before Beery apparently studied wand trees. Had one planted here, but he got the wrong strain and it’s rather bloodthirsty.” They chuckled. “Still rare, so he kept it. Funny how things turn out.”

“Indeed.”


	12. Alastor Moody doesn't know the true meaning of Christmas

# 

1961

The wind on the Quidditch pitch tugged viciously at Minerva's knit cap. She'd been trying get back into flying regularly over the summer and had been wrangled into sponsoring the Gryffindor Quidditch team at the last minute. They were a ragtag bunch of students who spent more time planning strategies in the warmth of the Quidditch shed than practicing them in the field, but the captain showed some promise. Jones spent the end of the first practice talking to the first years who had braved the gale to gape and watch. The newest member of the bleacher-bound fans was a small wiry boy who ran up to introduce himself to McGonagall, pulling up the waistband of pants that were several sizes too large. The ruddy face that smiled at her from under a patched wool hat could easily have belonged to her old housemate Sep and when he extended a slightly sticky hand she shook it in a daze. 

"Wart Weasley, ma'am. Me dad said to say 'Hi' and 'Bet you didn't expect me this year!'" Confusion passed over Wart's face as a friendly guffaw escaped Minerva's lips.

"That I didn't, Weasley. Glad to have you at Hogwarts, dear. Were you at the feast on Sunday?"

"No, ma'am, I just arrived this morning. Bit of a mix up with the train." He shrugged absentmindedly, apparently unbothered by the inconvenience.

"Very good." She tried to gather her thoughts. "Do try out for the team next year, it would do us good to have a Weasley on the team again." He beamed and headed back to the bleachers, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

She quickly did some math in her head, adding up the years since she'd finished school. Suddenly Cedrella's absence in seventh year made sense. Everyone figured she'd finally run away from her horrible family, but apparently she'd decided to start her own instead. _Good for her._ She and Sep had always been mad for each other, and he'd landed a good starting job at the Ministry out of school. They would never be rich, but they would be happy.

The thoughts refused to leave her mind as practice concluded and she returned to her classroom and office. Others had married and started families while she came back to Hogwarts and took refuge under the same roof that sheltered and nurtured her as a child. By rejecting a marriage proposal and career in law enforcement and returning to her school, had she placed herself in some kind of state of arrested development?

While certainly not a mother, she did nurture and encourage growth in her students. She and her fellow faculty had become some kind of cobbled-together family, if she squinted and thought about it just right. Urquart joined her every few years for the holidays, and while she hadn't returned home since she left, she and Rabbie regularly exchanged letters.

Minerva was growing, even if she wasn't doing exactly what society expected of her. And, for all that it mattered, she was happy.

  


* * *

  


The next several years passed much in this fashion. Children of friends arrived in droves, and she began to feel that she was simply caring for the strange miniature versions of her old friends... but these tiny doppelgangers had zero impulse control, and some of them had far more complex problems than their parents. The shadow of so many generations growing up in wartime was beginning to take its toll.

Trix's son arrived in a storm cloud of anger and confusion. He was young and suspicious and already knew far more spells and enchantments than the other students. Alastor aced Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration, but he struggled with making friends. On Christmas morning of his third year Minerva found him in the Gryffindor common room, suspiciously prodding a box wrapped in sparkling paper with his wand. She wrapped her dressing gown around herself and sat down next to the young man. He was intent on his work and barely glanced up to acknowledge her.

"Alastor?"

"Professor." He jabbed the wrapped box sharply.

"Have you tried _revelio_ yet? Sometimes it gets better results than interrogation techniques." She said, trying to hide a smile.

" _Revelio_." It was a command coming from him. The paper had taken all it could bear and shredded into the floor to reveal a very ordinary paper box. "Is that what it does?" He frowned.

"I'm sorry?"

"This box. It just had paper on it. I thought it would do something."

"My dear, this is a _gift_. You open it."

His frown deepened, and his thick eyebrows knit together. Minerva reached across from him and removed the top part of the box to reveal a lumpy gray mass of knitted work. "There, now pull out what's inside."

Alastor reached for the gray fabric and shook out what appeared to be a comically large wool sweater with an 'A' stitched on the front. A card fluttered out. He opened it and read aloud, "To Alastor Moody, from Molly Prewett." His voice grew slightly thick as he read the last line. "Happy Christmas." The young man wordlessly pulled on the sweater over his pajamas. The sleeves pooled around his arms and Minerva was fairly certain that another student could safely hide in the knit torso.

"Would you like me to shrink it up a bit for you, dear?" She asked gently. He gave her a sharp look.

"No. It's perfect. Lots of room to grow." He pushed the sleeves up over his elbows, but they fell down again. "When's breakfast?"

"I'm heading down right now. Would you like to walk down with me?" She stood up and stretched out her hand to pull him up. Once on his feet, the sweater came down halfway to his knees. The two descended to the Great Hall and Alastor broke away to the table piled high with puddings and sausages. Minerva sat next to Albus and poured herself some tea.

"How is he?" The headmaster offered her a flask under the table. "His mother's letter only said that she was unable to be in the country for the holidays."

Minerva nodded silently. She'd received an owl from Trix explaining that she was chasing down a dark wizard in the Black Forest. Ever since she'd been promoted to the Investigation Office two years ago, Alastor had been unable to visit his mother on holidays as he had before. He'd taken the blow with grace, or at least he hid his disappointment well. Every owl that arrived from his mother he read voraciously and would often tell his more trusted teachers about Trix's adventures. A suspicious and intelligent child, but Minerva expected nothing less from the son of a Watcher. She was nonetheless worried for his emotional health.

"He's Alastor. Hard to read, as usual. The young Prewett girl made him that sweater as a present." She sipped her tea and pocketed the flask into her robes. "He wouldn't let me make it fit."

Albus chuckled. "I'm glad he knows someone cares. Molly has a generous heart, and she knows far more about her fellow housemates than she lets on, I think."

"Indeed. She made me a tin of the most excellent fudge I've had. I ate it as I arranged the gifts in the common room this morning. A very nice start to the holiday, I rather think."

" _Accio whiskey._ " The flask flew out of her robes and into Albus's hand. He pocketed it smugly as she frowned at him. "It's only once a year." He said defensively. After a pause he sighed. "I must admit, after all these years of being Headmaster I do miss doing the presents every Christmas. Always did like tucking them beneath the tree."

Minerva let a smirk replace the frown on her face as she speared a few more kippers. "It's a perk of the position, _Headmaster_."


	13. Minerva tries her best not to devour a tasty, tasty owl

# 

1974

The classroom was at its best. Warm, a little dusty, and filled with Saturday morning sun. Minerva lay stretched in a sunbeam, completely oblivious to the world. The world was growing darker and she tried to capture as many calm moments as she possibly could. Every day there were reports of people disappearing or defecting, and the Daily Prophet began reporting names of suspected dark wizards and rumors of dark magic growing in the corners of their world. Concerned parents wrote her owls - parents who, like her, did not remember the last war well but knew enough to be frightened and angry.

The school's curriculum had changed. Filling the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching role had gone from difficult to impossible. Too many of the scholars in the wizarding world were afraid to be targets. As a result, many teachers had begun taking the more interdisciplinary portions of the class and sharing the load while leaving the yearly teacher the bare minimum of book learning and practical application. Faculty meetings grown tense and hostile with angry exhalations and crossed arms. Each class felt the burden of darkness, and every teacher had to face the reality that the outside war pressed heavily on the classrooms. One day, a dart board appeared with the faces of prospective Defense Against the Darks Arts recruits. Slughorn suggested they decide by throwing a dart and extending an invitation to the victim. It lasted a week before the joke wore out and guilt seeped into the activity.

Minerva started up the dueling club again, much to the glee of the student body. Many were excited to show off, and the winners began to sew bright stripes around the sleeves of their robes to silently brag their victories. She'd collaborated with the new Charms professor to teach students how to sew themselves -- The thought of mothers taking on a chore to serve their children's vanity was too much for Minerva, and she remembered the exasperation her brothers caused. When the sewing was in the context of showing winning badges, most students showed their crooked stitches with pride.

In her cat form, she was forbidden to consider things too seriously. Something the in the mind of a cat prevented her from settling on one issue for too long and she could instead find a meditative space in which to think. Becoming head of Gryffindor house meant that she had taken on a larger role of leadership with the students, and she needed some area in which to not be a firm disciplinarian. Striking the balance between stern and permissive was draining to her, especially as she still didn't quite feel grown up enough to do this. She'd been working at Hogwarts now for almost ten years but the first day of the year always felt like she was starting for the first time. When she was dozing and exposed to the sun, body stretched in a warm beam, she would often find herself back in the windswept fields of her hometown, Dougal's presence softly beside her.

There were no regrets for her. Years brought with them perspective, but while she recognized that a short whirlwind affair between two young people might be something others could brush off after a short time, she had difficulty doing the same. She let the melancholy drift across her consciousness and she let it continue on its erratic orbit through her life. Looking back in the detached way that felines do, she could see her choice had been the correct one for her to make. Life away from Hogwarts -- away from teaching -- would be empty. She had no desire for children and would have been a social pariah from the community in her town. There was little appeal to a life where she could not sit in a companionable silence with herself in her own quarters if she wished, or sleep with the windows open on a chilly fall evening.  
Most teachers at Hogwarts were unmarried. A few had families in Hogsmeade they returned to every evening, and others had partners who worked at the school. This was an odd community of crackpots and researchers, and she loved it.

A little owl fluttered through her window and gently placed its message on her desk. It hopped and hooted a few times. She met its gaze from the floor and twisted into a crouch. Predator and predator locked eyes. Instinctively she felt her rear legs lower and began to sway into a pounce and she forcibly turned into her natural form before she could embarrass herself in front of Urquart's owl.

Tension and stress flooded back into her bones. This was getting to be less and less fun. She found the packet of treats in her desk drawer and fed some to the comically small owl. Her sun-addled brain took a few moments to remember the summoning charm for water, and it took her a small time to unroll the parchment.

> _Minnie,_
> 
> _I've just received a letter from Albus asking if I would be willing to consider a temporary teaching role at Hogwarts after I retire next year. He thinks it will give me some time to transition and rest, and I agree -- with some reservations. There is some doubt in my mind as to whether or not I should take the job, though, and I was wondering if you had any wisdom you could share._
> 
> _The thought of going from the battlefield to the classroom is daunting, and there are few at Hogwarts who understand the shift._
> 
> _I also don't know shit about kids._
> 
> _Yours, etc._  
>  _E. Urquart_

Minerva let out a laugh and sank into her chair, pulling out a piece of parchment and a spelled quill. The owl hooted blinked at her and then looked at the paper. It settled on the perch near her window and began to groom while waiting for her to compose a reply.

> _Urquart,_
> 
> _Teenagers are not so different from criminals, when it comes right down to it. They're ornery and tricksy and downright evil at times. Unlike dark wizards, they're also fun and energetic and... well, the transition helped me find hope in the world again. It may do the same for you. With things the way they are now, they may need to benefit from your experience and wisdom._
> 
> _Put down your wand and pick up a book. We kept the world safe, now we get to help it grow._
> 
> _I'll be here._  
>  _Minnie_

She considered re-writing the last line, but ultimately tied a piece of twine around the parchment and gave it to the owl before she could change her mind. In a flurry of feathers and talons, the bird was gone.


	14. Peeves! Marauders! Librarians!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detentions served, and a research assistant is recruited.

# 1975

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was a mess. The previous teacher slipped out in the middle of the night as soon as he'd graded the exams without bothering to ready the classroom for its next inhabitant. Deppy was distraught at the state of the overturned classroom chairs and the drawers of the teacher's desk, which had been cruelly pulled out and emptied before being left on the floor. Albus gently patted the house elf on the shoulder and suggested she come back later after they'd tidied up and done the heavy lifting. 

"There'll be plenty for you to do once we've put things back to rights. I dare say we can get some help before all the students leave for the year." As soon as Deppy was gone, Albus looked at Minerva and said, "I don't suppose we have any detentions that haven't been served, have we?"

A small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth and she nodded with certainty. "I'm sure I can find a few. In fact, I know precisely how to find them." She marched into the hallway and made her way to the trophy room, where she'd seen Peeves loosening the screws in the cabinet doors earlier.

"PEEVES." Minerva posed akimbo in the doorway and let her voice thunder through the room. She’d found the stance to be very effective when striking fear into the hearts of students. And, occasionally, Peeves. The poltergeist started in surprise, causing the glass cabinet door to crash to the floor and shatter into countless pieces. He turned to face her, and the look of horror that struck him was priceless. She struggled to suppress the surge of satisfaction and the smile that wanted to appear on her lips. She pursed her lips instead.

"WHAT did I tell you about the trophy room?” She'd mastered accusatory questions a few years ago, and the effect on guilty parties never failed to fill her with glee.

Peeves pulled his hat over his ears and shook his head. "Don't remember."

"I won't coddle you this time." She pulled her wand out and rapped it sharply on the doorframe. The poltergeist frantically peeked out from under the brim of his hat and began to shriek as she towered over him.

" _ Fine _ ! Fine. Trophies only, not the cabinets nor the plaques. That's what you said." He pulled his hat up and grinned, showing his pointed teeth. "Wasn't it?" His eyes narrowed, floating closer and leering at her in smug self-confidence.

Minerva thought for a split second and then her hand snaked out to grasp his ear, dragging him down. She held him firmly as he howled and tried to twist away and wiggle free. The chaotic poltergeist was no match for her iron grip, now well-seasoned by years of catching runaway transfiguration assignments. "You know damn well what we agreed on." She hissed. "Now, do you want to do something that just might get you into my good graces?" He glared balefully at her and gnashed his teeth once before nodding with a jerk of his head, pulling against her hand.

“P’raps.” He snapped and strained once more, twisting himself away from his captor.

"Good." She let him go suddenly, and he reeled across the room like a dervish, slamming into a three-tiered trophy and disappearing behind its plinth, taking the brass monstrosity with him. "Now, I want you to go and find that gaggle of mischief-makers you love so much. You know which ones. When you find them I want you to send them straight to the headmaster in the Defense classroom. We'll discuss this mess later." She turned on her heel and started out the door.

Peeves pulled himself upright in the air and pulled a face at her, which she caught in a shining door. She looked back at him directly through the reflection, catching his gaze as he cautiously lowered the doorknob from the shattered cabinet door onto the floor.

Back in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Minerva found Albus kneeling down before a low cabinet and slowly levitating tomes from its shelves. The lock on the case door was smoking slightly, and the headmaster’s face was grim. The stack of books on the table had books that were unmarked and others which wore the signs of being library property. As she reached for one of the books, his hand grabbed her wrist and he shook his head silently. The books he'd been levitating fell to the ground in an unceremonious heap. One of them hissed a warning from the bottom of the pile.

“Albus, what are these?” She pulled her hand back and summoned her wand, raising a volume and rotating it so she could clearly see the spine. It read,  _ A Longe Darke Journeye Into The Soulle _ , by Annethea Noirre. The leather binding was a deeper black than she’d ever seen. It gleamed with a sheen like oil, and the pages looked as if they’d survived a fire.

“I believe these may have been left behind by a previous teacher. The lock wouldn’t give until I blasted it to hell.” He answered absently, engrossed in examining the volumes.

“I didn’t ask where you found them, I asked what they were.” She let out an irritated breath. Sometimes she felt that her friend would answer any question except the one she asked. “Peeves is bringing the Gryffindors up now.” Dumbledore’s eyes snapped back to reality and he stood up urgently.

“Better get these back to my office, then. These really shouldn’t be anywhere near students.” He rested the tip of his wand several inches above the books, made a vague motion, and they folded into nothingness. A small, terse smile crossed his face as he made as if to leave. “Thank you for overseeing this, McGonagall. I do appreci-“

“You aren’t really leaving me to wrangle these youngsters, are you?” She objected.

Dumbledore’s face didn’t change as he met her steely gaze. “Indeed I am.” And he was gone.

Minerva swore loudly.

No sooner had the curse left her lips than a chorus of juvenile giggles broke out behind her. She arranged her face and turned around in as slow and deliberate a manner as she could summon. “What is so funny, young man?” She directed the question to the leader of the quartet, a spindly fourth year with an unruly mess of black hair and impish brown eyes. A small wave of vertigo passed over her as she caught his gaze. It often seemed that Mia was smiling back at her, and she struggled to stifle the smile that wanted to spring to her lips. Her forced countenance did little to calm the ripples of laughter among the young men. She crossed her arms. "Potter, I asked you a question and I expect you to answer it."

When he realized that he might have to answer the question, his face changed to resemble that of a startled deer. He recovered swiftly, shifting his weight to the other foot and shrugging a little. "I'm sorry, professor. Just not the sort of thing you usually say, you know?" The corner of his mouth quirked up and his hazel eyes projected what the young man imagined innocence looked like. His companions echoed his apology in murmurs, except Black, who smirked at his shoes. Lupin had a harder time with the apology, seeming genuinely embarrassed.

Minerva let out her breath in exasperation. "Right," she said, beckoning them into the room. "I'm afraid Mr. Marshwoggle left it a bit of a hurry.” She couldn’t bring herself to refer to the man as ‘Professor’. “You'll be serving your remaining detention by putting the room back to rights. You may use your wands if you wish, but no sloppy work will be permitted."

"Yes, professor." Potter reached for a chair and placed it upright, checking for its stability. It twisted under his weight and he frowned. He moved it to the window along the side of the classroom, turning to his friends. "Anything that might need fixing line up along the window where we can see, everything else gets put back to normal." Black began to arrange things in the room, using his magic to herd the wobblier furniture into a corner while the other boys began to straighten the desks.

Watching the young men work together was impressive. Wordlessly and almost methodically, they ordered the desks first, then moved on to the chairs while Pettigrew checked the condition of the desks, placing a book on them if they needed fixing. Lupin began to repair the shabbier items with a skilled hand, testing his weight on the chairs and placing the solid ones gently feet-up on the desks where they belonged. Together the four boys made quick work of the classroom.

Minerva turned her attention to her own, more dangerous work. The professor’s desk was mostly filled with scraps of parchment and crumbled protective herbs, but Minerva carefully flattened everything into a box for safe-keeping and spent a few minutes renewing the standard fireproofing and anti-intruder charms.

A throat cleared politely and she looked up to find the four students standing awkwardly in front of her. The room was cleared and she could see they’d even done a haphazard sweeping charm. The broken chairs looked, if not fixed, at least significantly less likely to buckle under the next inhabitant’s weight.

“Thank you very much boys, consider your detention served.” Minerva dismissed them with a nod and returned to putting the desk back together. The drawers slid back into place and the top closed, locking with a firm  _ click _ . She rose and turned to leave only to be startled by the presence of Lupin, who sat at a desk reading as if in class. “Remus, whatever are you still doing here?”

He closed the book, keeping a finger between the pages to mark his spot. “I had a question for you, professor.” His eyes lingered on the binding, not rising to meet hers. She moved towards him and sat in the chair opposite.

“Of course, Remus. How can I help?” She rested her hands gently between them on the desk.

“You know that the headmaster has let me be at Hogwarts even though I’m…” He floundered. He took a deep breath but seemed unable to continue.

“Yes, dear. Is it something to do with your… condition?” She hoped that was an appropriate word to use. The boy nodded.

“Yes. I was wondering if you’d have any books on shapechangers that weren’t, well,  _ bad _ ? Everything we learn in Defense Against the Dark Arts talks about me as if I’m wrong.” His brow creased and he frowned.

A swell of compassion hit her like a wave. “Oh, Remus.” She placed a hand over his. “You… you’re such a good student, you know that? One of the brightest and kindest in your class. I see that every day. You work hard, and you do well.” The boy shrugged a little. She leaned across the desk and patted his shoulder. “You’re not wrong at all.” He looked a little embarrassed, but not untouched by the gesture.

“Marshwoggle isn’t coming back, Remus.” Minerva would never say so to a student, but the man had been utterly incompetent. He’d spent more time teaching urban legends and unproved remedies than anything from the textbook. No amount of faculty disciplinary meetings had impressed on him the value of scholarly teaching or made any perceived difference. Minerva put down his hiring to particularly bad day with the hiring dart board.

“The new professor is a good man, and if it’s alright with you I’d like to have a word with him to make sure he addresses any misinformation that may have been spread this year.” She gave him a small squeeze. “Would that help? I won’t mention your name.”

“Thanks, professor. I’d appreciate that.”

“Of course. Now, why don’t we visit the library and see what we can find on werewolves? I dare say that Lovegood may have some recommendations. They usually do.” The two pushed back the chairs and went down to the library, which was filled with the sound of the librarian’s tuneless humming.

“Delysia?” Minerva called. “Where are you?” They made their way to the reference desk and Lupin absently picked out a few bookmarks from the pile next to the sweets jar. One of slips of card stock featured a pair of legs that kicked and squirmed out between the pages of whatever novel the bookmark was placed in. Minerva had a sweet.

“One moment!” Came a muffled reply. The librarian appeared a few minutes later. They were intent on balancing a stack floating in the air and carrying an armful of furry volumes that seemed to be covered in mange. Their face was covered by a large swath of cloth which served as a mask. The librarian directed the stack onto the table and dumped their armload into a bucket. They tore off the mask and threw it into the bucket before putting down a lid that sealed around the brim. They rapped a tattoo on the lid with their wand and simultaneously made a strange ticking sound with their tongue. The bucket jumped and the lid sucked inward with a  _ fwoom _ . Smoke sizzled from the edges and Lupin’s eyes grew as big as saucers as he gazed in awe at the slight, beaming librarian.

“I’ve been wanting to get rid of those books for years! Disgusting things, and far too old to be of any use.” They whispered a cleansing spell over their hands and arms and dusted themselves off. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“We were wondering if you might have any books on werewolves that weren’t as xenophobic or pathologizing as the last teacher’s so-called curriculum.” While usually she wouldn’t be quite so disparaging about a faculty member in front of a student, Delysia was well aware of the disciplinary meetings that had taken place in the last year, and Minerva would be damned before she implied that Marshwoggle’s “teaching” had any kind of validity.

Delysia made a sound of disgust and disappeared behind the desk, emerging with a shiny new book. They passed the volume to Lupin, who took it with what passed for a morose fifteen year-old’s version of eagerness. “It’s called  _ Hairy Snout, Human Heart. _ Just arrived this week! By an anonymous werewolf, meant to help remove the stigma attached to lycanthropy and encourage understanding.”

He opened the cover and smelled the binding absent-mindedly before flipping through a few pages to read the first few sentences. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Lovegood filled out the slip and stamped the inside cover. “You’re very welcome, young man.” They gave him a small smile of solidarity and handed the book back.

“You know,” the librarian leaned over the counter, “I could use an assistant to help me with some research next year. We really need to expand some of these areas on social issues. Maybe you could help me proof some additions?” He nodded, which Minerva took to mean that he wasn’t horrifically opposed to the idea. It was hard to tell sometimes, with teenagers. “Good. I expect a reflection on the book on the first day of term. Four inches standard parchment, and tell me what the author left out. Come find me next year, we’ll find some other books to add.”

As the young man left the library, Minerva watched him go with a measure of worry. “I don’t know what his family life is like, but he always seems to be on the verge of setting things on fire.”

“He has friends, though, doesn’t he?” Lovegood absently chewed on the corner of their mouth.

Minerva nodded. “He does, and they seem like good young men. I just worry that he’s lonely. Nobody really understands what he goes through, and what that must do to him…” she trailed off. “I just wish I could help.”

“You did.”


	15. Professor Peeves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Especially for Glorious_Clio.

# July 1975

* * *

 

“Oh, dear, how very embarrassing.” A titter punctuated the sentiment. “You’ve been given a grade of ‘fair.’ I’m afraid That’s not very good.” The woman simpered as if speaking to a six year-old.

Minerva let out a breath and gazed steadily over her glasses at the pink-robed figure.

“You _did_ insist on performing my evaluation on April Fools Day, Dolores. Perhaps not the best time to perform your first round of progress reports to claw your way into Director Badgitt’s good graces.”

The other woman’s confidence wavered for a moment. She shifted her weight to the other foot. “It’s called doing one’s job, Minerva. I suppose you’ve never had to work very hard here, but some of us _do_ put in an effort, you know.”

“Mm.” Awkward pause. “Was that all? I’m afraid I’m rather busy today.”

Dolores let out a high-pitched huff that she’d been perfecting since birth. “Take care, Minerva. Next time I will not be so understanding with my evaluations.” She turned on her pink kitten heels ( _Ha_ , Minerva thought wryly) and left, shutting the door a little too hard behind her.

 

# April Fools Day, 1975

* * *

 

“I know many of you seem to have other plans, but we _do_ have class today.” The tall witch gave a terse-but-still-kind smile to her class before turning her back to begin drawing out diagrams for today’s 4th year class. It was a risk to take her eyes off them for a moment, but trust must be given as well as earned. Besides, Dolores was sitting in the back row, pink fluffy quill and notebook in hand, and Minerva didn’t anticipate that appearing suspicious would help the situation.

The trouble Minerva was hoping to avoid didn’t come from the four mischief-makers in the corner, though. It slammed open the door with a wild screech and spun into the room like a dervish.

“Hallo ickle fifthties!” He ricocheted across the walls, cackling loudly before bouncing violently  behind the podium.

 “Peeves, I’m warning you,” Minerva strode toward him, wand away but fingernails lethally sharp. “Today is _not_ the day. And that’s not even a word.”

 “You’d really stop me from achieving my life’s goal?” The poltergeist gave her the toothiest, most saccharine smile she’d seen since Bertie Bott’s Christmas card.

 Umbridge opened her mouth to interject, but it snapped shut at a look from the teacher.

 “Your life’s goal is to teach my transfiguration class, Peeves?” She didn’t bother to hide her incredulity.

 “Yes! And besides, it’s my birthday.” His eyes spun like windmills as he clasped his hands to his cheek dreamily.

 _Oh, what the hell_. She approached the podium and presented Peeves with a sweep of her arm. “Class, I expect you to pay full attention to today’s surprise guest lecturer.” Dolores let out a scoff of disbelief. Minerva ignored it. She’d had enough. Teaching here for decades and all of a sudden Dolores appeared for no other reason than to trod on her former classmates with the sole purpose of making herself look taller in the Ministry.

The poltergeist did a somersault in the air, and in the very back of the classroom Minerva could see the fluffy tip of Dolores’s quill bobbing at an almost comic speed. A student in the front row raised her hand.

 “Yes, Evans, what is it?”

 “I… Is he even qualified to teach us, professor?”

 “As is the case with many guest lecturers, Peeves has significant experience in the field even though he may not hold…formal credentials. Carry on, Peeves.”

 Taking a short moment to revel in the shocked silence of the class, she took a seat behind her desk and looked at Peeves expectantly.

 He cleared his throat, then grasped the podium on either side with his hands, leaning forward as if to tell the class a secret. Then, the pink feathery quill in the back caught his attention. Like a magnet to a lodestone, he gravitated to Dolores, fingers dancing and a wide grimace on his face. Her quill froze on the page.

 “Oooooh, welcome back, welcome back.” Peeves lowered himself until he was eye level with Dolores, who appeared to be somewhere between disgruntled and furious. “Didn’t think _you’d_ be back, that’s for certain.”

 Dolores’s eyes widened even further. “Minerva, exert some control over your class,” she snapped. Peeves cackled, reaching out and snatching her quill and notebook from her fingers. Rather than break it in two as Minerva expected he would, the poltergeist began to scribble madly in Dolores’s notebook, ripping pages and crossing out passages.

 “Peeves...“ Minerva stood silently, fluidly, giving him a single warning.

 Generally, he didn’t listen to her. Or at least she’d have to back him into a corner to try and channel his chaos into a less harmful path. But sometimes he’d jerk out of his baleful spiral long enough to get distracted.

  _“What?”_ He whirled, dropping the forgotten quill and notebook on the ground. _Victory_!

 “I thought you were our guest lecturer today.” Her voice held the edge that she’d honed on him over the years. It didn’t always work, but it was worth a try. “Was there anything else you wanted to say?”

 “Yes!” A lightbulb appeared in the air above the his head. He floated over the center of the class, arms raised high as if to conduct an orchestra. He then placed a hand under his other armpit and began to make loud farting noises and singing a rather rude version of Scarborough Fair which Minerva had never heard before.

 The students stifled laughter behind their hands. Minerva struggled not to follow suit. He bounced out of the classroom, knocking over inkwells, books, and leaving his signature trail of destruction.

 An uneasy silence fell. All eyes turned to Dolores, who had begun piecing together her notebook. Her nerves were so needled that the pages were out of order, some were upside down, and it seemed somehow that more pages were coming out of the binding than going back in. She stopped, turned to a new page, and began writing furiously.

 “Cannot maintain control… _invites chaos_ …” She underlined that twice, then continued, “Permits bullying and dismisses students concerns.” At this, she looked up at Evans with a look she imagined conveyed solidarity. Evans returned a flummoxed look.

 Dolores stood up and fixed her beady eyes on Minerva. “You may expect your results this summer,” she sniffed, “and you may expect them to accurately reflect today’s events.” She left the room without another word.

 The class turned as one back to Minerva. There was still more than half an hour left in class.

 “Yes. Well. I suppose that’s that. Let’s continue with a review of the cross-species transfiguration formula, why don’t we?”


	16. Finally, something happy occurs!

#  September 1975

A few months later, Urquart walked through a steady summer storm with his old bound trunk and carpetbags. The baggage trudged through the mud of its own accord, small leathery legs marching reluctantly behind its master. The doors of the great hall swung open in welcome, and the tall, lanky figure made his way to the faculty wing, leaving a clear trail of rainwater in his path.

The entirety of his belongings fit in the three drawers of the dresser which occupied much of the single room. A sturdy but small desk, stool, and bed took up the rest. When he laid down on the bed, his legs couldn’t straighten completely without him magically extending the bed — which he couldn’t do unless the door was closed. For all that it was a small, cramped living space, he loved it. It wasn’t a stark stone room filled with bunkbeds, or the sofa in his office, or a threadbare armchair near whatever fireplace he could find. It was stationary. Solid. And for the next year, it was his. He cast protective anti-intruder spells on the threshold and a warming charm at the foot of his bed. Perfect.

Minerva found him later that afternoon in the faculty common room cradling a cup of tea as he gazed contentedly out the window, watching the rain soften the school grounds. He seemed in a warm haze and she hesitated before disturbing his peace.

“Don’t you ever wear anything other than black?”

The tall figure twisted around in what might have been mild surprise if she wasn’t certain he’d known the very moment she entered the door, and a broad smile spread across his gaunt face. “I’m in mourning for my career.”

Minerva gave a  _ tsk _ . ”Yes, you seem absolutely crushed at the thought of no longer gallivanting after criminals in the wee hours of the morning.”

He laughed as he stood, putting his tea down and wrapping her in a slightly damp hug. She noticed that he stood slower than he used to, favoring his right knee and not fully extending his right arm. But the embrace was still strong and familiar.

“Still not fond of those drying charms, are you?” She said, muffled, into his shoulder.

“I did one!” She could hear a smile soften the indignation in his voice. “I wear layers, you know. And I  _ was _ practically drowned out there.” Urquart tightened his arms around her a little and the two friends leaned on each other for a while in silence. When they pulled apart, it was to sit down on the overstuffed chairs near the windows. He stretched his long legs out and he sank deeper into the chair.

“I passed a place on my way in I think we should go sometime.” He smiled into his teacup and stirred it idly. “In Hogsmeade.”

“Oh, yes, The Three Broomsticks is lovely. They pour a very tasty butterbeer, especially in this weather.” She summoned her favorite teacup and a steaming pot of tea. “Rosslyn’s got quite the local pub, there.” The last month had involved an intensive curriculum overhaul, and the tension she carried in her neck and shoulders had become nearly unbearable. In his presence she felt it ease and her mind clear for a while.

“I’m sure it is. I was, however, talking about Madam Puddifoot’s. Looked like a place you might like.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully and took a long sip.

The sound that left Minerva’s mouth was nothing less than a pure giggle. It had been a long time since she’d laughed like that, and it felt  _ wonderful _ . Anything that sparked that in her, she thought, might be worth the frills and ruffles and pink. “We’ll have to go then.” He grinned, victorious, and stood up brusquely.

“Excellent. Well, then, we ought to be on our way. I’m sure they’ll be packed for dinner.” He extended a hand to help her out of the armchair but was met with a disbelieving look instead.

“Tonight? Now? But Albus will want to see you for dinner tonight, surely. Haven’t you spoken with him?”

Urquart shrugged, dismissing the idea. “I haven’t, and Albus isn’t here to make plans. Besides, I bet he doesn’t have anything proper to wear—strike that, I know for a fact he does. But he won’t look as good as we will.” He wiggled his fingers enticingly and she yielded, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet in a swift, liquid movement.

She smiled up at him mischievously. “I suppose you’re right, we should leave him to enjoy his last evening of peace for the foreseeable future.” With a sparkle of her eyes, the scarf he’d draped across the chair wound itself loosely around his neck and fashioned itself into a painfully shocking purple cravat. “There. Now you’re dressed appropriately.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Urquart chortled, patting the cravat and stepping back to appraise his friend’s wardrobe. “I must say, Golly, that dress is perfect for the occasion.” She looked down in dismay at her favorite dress, which had turned from a rich emerald green to a rather dull puce.

“Elphinstone, what on earth were you going for with this?”

He bit his lower lip nervously. “Is… is that not bright pink?”

“Have you forgotten what bright pink looks like?” She could barely contain her laughter.

“Well, I think you look lovely.”

Minerva blushed— _ blushed _ —and hid it behind a scoff, adjusting her glasses.

“Shall we?” He offered his hand.

“I suppose we shall.”

He winked, and she slid her hand into his. They walked side by side to the village and arrived at the tea shop, boots muddied and hearts warm. It took three cleaning charms until Puddifoot would let them inside, and they stayed long after she would have preferred they leave.


End file.
